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 Copyright @ 2023 Janisha Boswell All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by
the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission
of the publisher.

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Authors Note / Content Warnings
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Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Books In This Series

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 For those who desperately crave academic validation.
You don’t need a grade to determine your worth.
You are worth more than any letter or number. So much more.

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 Authors Note / Content Warnings

You do not need to read the first book in the series to read this. But I
would highly suggest you do to see where Scarlett and Evan’s story left off
at the end of book one. Any major scenes are described briefly, so you will
not be missing out on too much.

As much as this book deals with sickly sweet romantic scenes and the
joys of female friendships, it also takes a slightly darker route dealing with
death which is described slightly on and off page in light gruesome detail.

This book is also an open door romance, meaning it contains explicit

sexual scenes that are described on page. Mentions of grief journeys,
anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder are also topics that are discussed in
this book. If any of these may upset or cause any distress to readers, I
encourage you to seek help from family, friends or a professional.

All your feelings and journeys are valid ones.

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OceanofPDF.com
 The lie was the weapon, and the plot was empty. Darkness was the
dictator.
Charles Bukowski - ‘Let it Enfold You’.

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 1
Scarlett

“One more time.” I roll my eyes and push his sweaty body off mine. It
takes me a few blinks to register the room again without my head spinning.
The dark blue walls blink back at me as I focus on the framed Marvel
posters on his bedroom walls that I forgot about. I groan as I sit up, my legs
and back feeling sore.
“Not today. I’ve got to go," I sigh, twisting my body to the side of the
bed to fish up my underwear from halfway across the floor. God. Did I
really get that desperate that I couldn't even make it to the bed?
I ignore the warning bells that are going off in my brain as I pull on my
dress, trying to look presentable. I feel his hot large hands wrap around me
from behind when I’m close to the door and his chin rests on my shoulder.
If I wasn’t so eager to get back to my own home and my own bed, I would
let him take me again. And again. The three times we did it last night are
enough for me. “I'm being serious. I do have to go.”
“Are you going to do this every time?” he groans into my skin. I shut
my eyes tight before turning to him and stepping out of his grasp. His huge
hands fall limp at his sides as he stands naked in front of me.
“There's not going to be a next time, Charlie. This is the first and the
last time we’re doing this,” I smile, and he groans, throwing his head back.
“C'mon. You knew that going into this.”
“I thought you’d change your mind.” He smirks.
“I didn't. You’re not as good as everyone makes out.” I shrug.
 “Ouch,” he groans dramatically, clutching his heart. I don’t let my eyes
travel any further down than his chest as he stretches.
There’s something so undeniably hot about a naked man stretching in
front of me. If I don’t keep myself in check, I’ll do yet another stupid thing
I’ll regret.
He smiles as he says, “You could have left me with some dignity, God.”
“Sorry,” I say. For one of the first times, I actually am sorry. Charlie's a
nice enough guy and the sex was…okay. I just don’t want to see him again
in case he figures out who I am and realises he’ll want more or nothing at
all. Instead, I lie. “I'll see you around.”
I slip out of his room and do the walk of shame through his frat house.
This is my favourite part of this whole routine.
Kidding of course.
It’s not as bad as it used to be. Sure, my friends say having sex with
random college guys is not healthy for me, but who cares anymore? At first
it was nice for the thrill. The escape. Then it became edged into my routine.
School at 8:30, lunch, homework, hang out with the girls, more homework
and then do something a little reckless. A little out of control. Over the last
few days, I've needed that out-of-control feeling a lot more.
I could get any of the nice, well dressed, and well-mannered guys that
my mom keeps handing me off to, but I don't want that. I want something
messy. Rough. Dirty. Quick enough that they don’t register my surname.
With the proper men I'm exposed to at weekly family events, it makes my
stomach turn thinking of how they’d treat me in bed. And not in a good
way.
There's something exhilarating about the boys at NU or nearby, with
little to no common sense, that makes my nerves sing. They can expect a
little sex and nothing more. Plus, most of them are too eager to even ask
any of the important questions. The few guys I've been with that attend the
Bailey Foundation event every year always expect something more. They
would get down on one knee on the first date if they wanted to just to
expand their businesses. Hell, I've known some people that got engaged at
eighteen from that shit. That is the last thing I want or need.
Instead, I force myself to walk across campus and down to my
apartment. It’s a few weeks into September, and I’m still not used to the
winter air in Salt Lake. I should’ve brought a jacket with me. Or drove. But
no. I have to walk in the cold in a black minidress and flats.
My best friends and roommates, Wren, and Kennedy, are used to these
weekly antics, so they’re not surprised when I walk through the door in the
same clothes I had on when I left yesterday.
Kennedy blinks at me from the kitchen counter, her spoonful of
Cheerio’s pausing at her mouth when she raises one eyebrow up at me. I
shrug at her before searching the fridge for a drink.
“Fun time?” she asks around a mouthful. I grab a water and lean against
the sink, drawing my face into a puzzled expression as I stare at her. I
slowly pull the bottle to my lips and take a sip silently. “From the state of
your dress and your hair I’m going to take that as a yes.”
“Do we have to do this every time?” I ask, bored. I take another gulp,
setting the drink down onto the counter.
“I guess not. I just like to piss you off sometimes. You’re easier to wind
up than Wren,” Kennedy says, spooning more cereal into her mouth. Her
brown curly hair drops down into her face and she flicks her head
dramatically to push it out of the way, her brown skin glowing a deep red
from the sheer effort she’s putting into making sure she eats. Nothing can
get between this woman and her food.
“Yeah, where is she?” I ask, looking over her shoulder into the empty
living room.
“She says she has practice, but we both know what that means,”
Kennedy murmurs, wiggling her eyebrows.
For the past year, our best friend and favourite NU figure skater, has
been dating Miles Davis, a hockey player at NU, who has been head-over
heels for her since day one. At the beginning, she was only dating him to
regain her social status and to help him get back on the hockey team, but
then things got real, and they fell for each other. Hard. Since then, they’ve
been all over each other and fucking like bunnies.
It’s starting to get disgusting being around them or just being in my
own home. I’ve walked into my own living room too many times to them
doing stuff while watching the TV. Our whole friend group knows how they
are, yet Wren still tries to hide it by claiming she’s going to ‘practice,’ when
really she’s going to his house.
 “Right,” I whistle, draining the last of my water before throwing it in
the trash. “I need to catch up on work for class. Are you going into the
studio today?”
Kennedy’s face lights up at the mention of her safe place: the art studio.
The same way I’m obsessed with numbers and spreadsheets, Ken loves to
draw and create. Studying art and photography at NU has been the best
thing to ever happen to her after her dad passed away.
The studio has become her sanctuary and when we’re lucky enough,
we’re able to see some of the projects she creates.
“Yeah, I’m going soon, but aren’t you meant to be meeting your mom,
like, now?” Kennedy mentions, checking the time on her phone.
My gut twists. I forgot. “Shit, Ken, you could have told me to come
back earlier. I need to shower and get the smell of sex off me,” I exclaim,
rushing around to the other side of the kitchen to grab my towel out of the
airing cupboard.
“Oh, let’s all blame Kennedy,” she mocks before adding, “I didn’t want
to interrupt your sexy time. The last time I did, you threatened to burn my
Jasmine James shrine,” she shouts to me from the kitchen when I get into
my room down the hall.
“Yeah because you worship her like an insane person,” I shout back.
“Next time, at least text me. My mom is going to freak out.”

* * *

The Voss household has one rule: don’t be late but if you are, come
bearing gifts. After a quick shower and replacing my minidress with a dark
blue pantsuit, I stopped off at Cane’s and bought enough chicken sandwich
meals to feed a pack of lions before pulling into my family estate.
Maybe it’s always been in the air, and I forgot about it. Or maybe it’s
intensified since my dad has been in the hospital — but there’s been
something deeply unsettling about the Voss mansion.
Growing up here, the deep brown stone walls became comforting. It
felt normal as our family assistant, Mia, greeted us in the entryway and
pestered us with reminders or refreshments. Even the larger-than-life
portrait, of my great-great-grandfather Carlo Voss, that hangs over the
dining room table has become welcoming. But moving out is still one of the
best things to ever happen to me. Not only has it given me the chance to
hang out with my best friends 24/7, but I’m no longer being ridiculed by my
four older brothers who were lucky enough to have access to the family
business the second they turned eighteen.
I’ve always known I’d have to work for my spot in the family, the
second I realised that I’m the only woman - apart from my mother - who
has ever been involved in the Voss family business. My eldest brother,
Alexander, moved to London a few years ago and is managing our designer
clothing brand on that side of the world. The twins, Arthur, and Leo have
taken comfortable positions as customer service managers. While Arthur
chases after the role as the eldest Voss son, Leo is usually off in a corner
smoking weed. Henry is working his way up to help with graphic designs.
It’s bad to have a favourite, I know, but Henry has always understood
me more than my other brothers. We’re only two years apart and since he
has a six-year age gap with the twins, he understands what it’s like to be out
of the loop sometimes. As much as I like to believe that I know him better
than anyone, I should have seen it coming when he captured me in a hug
the second I walked through the door.
“Hey, you’re going to squash the sandwiches,” I muffle before pushing
away from his embrace. I almost topple back on my heels when I register
his face in front of me. He has the same set of dark features I do – dark
arched eyebrows, slick black hair that falls onto his forehead and a lined
dimple on his right cheek. I swear he looks older every time I see him,
which makes me feel old.
“I’ll take those out of your hands,” he teases, trying to pull at the bag. I
put the bag behind my back as I brush past him. I walk down the mile-long
foyer until I reach the kitchen, placing the bags on the counter.
“Are the twins home?” I ask Henry who has eagerly followed behind
me. I pull out some plates from the cupboard and lay them onto the glass
countertop. He reaches over into the bag, and I swat his hand away. He
pouts.
“No, Arthur is visiting dad and Leo’s somewhere,” Henry replies,
drumming his fingers onto the table. I finally tear open the bags of food and
start to share out Henry and I some food. I swear the boy's mouth starts to
water.
 “And why aren’t you there?” I ask, pulling a seat out from the island
and sitting down. Henry props himself up on the counter.
“I could ask you the same question,” he challenges.
I don’t bother to fight him on it. Since our dad, the current heir to the
Voss dynasty, randomly fell into a coma, it’s been hard to see him.
My dad and I were always close. When I was younger, my dad would
tell me tales of how the clothing business came to be and all the scary
stories that stemmed from his family back in our small town in Italy. He
would tell those stories to frighten me. To scare me away from the business.
To see it as this evil thing that I’d never want to be a part of so I could
watch from the sidelines with my mother when it eventually burned to the
ground. That only excited me more. It challenged me. It made me want to
work harder than ever to prove that I’m as good - or better - than my
brothers. It is a dirty and filthy world, amore mio, my dad would say, it’s not
for perfect people like you.
My dad is a healthy man, so when he mysteriously got ill, I knew it
wasn’t an accident. Everyone has been too afraid to even humour the fact
that he could have been attacked. But not me. I may have no proof,
evidence, or any sort of motive, but I’m working on it. Sort-of.
“I’ll see him soon,” I say, disguising my guilt with a bite of my
sandwhich. With a flourish — and I swear I see glitter falling — our mom
rushes into the kitchen with her arms wide.
“Oh, Scarlett, love,” my mom announces, sauntering towards me in a
purple gown. If having four brothers isn’t enough overprotectiveness, I also
have my mother.
I shoot Hen a look to intervene because I don’t want my mom on my
case right now.
“Mom! Fancy seeing you here,” Henry exclaims, jumping off the
counter and placing his arms on our mom’s shoulders, intersecting her path
to me. He turns back and grins at me. I furrow my eyebrows at him and tell
him to tone it down a notch. “Scarlett doesn’t feel like embracing you right
now, but by all means, act as if you haven’t seen her in years. From a
distance.”
“Why? What’s wrong? Is she sick?” my mom quizzes. She pushes
Henry out of the way and comes to face me, placing her hands on my
cheeks. “Are you sick? What’s the matter with you?”
 “Jesus, mom, I just didn’t want you all up in my face,” I groan, prying
her hands off me. She pushes her dark brown hair over her shoulder.
Considering the fact that her husband is in the hospital, she seems pretty put
together. As always.
“First you want to move out and now you don’t even want to hug me.
What’s next? You’re going to run away and elope,” she sighs frantically,
dropping into the chair beside me. I laugh as I nudge the food towards her,
and she grins.
“I’m sorry but you’ve got to forgive me because I have food,” I beam,
popping a fry into my mouth. “Why did you want to see me?”
“It’s your dad…” she begins dramatically, poking at the tray of food.
Henry comes around to the other side of the island, his forearms leaning on
the table.
“What? Is something wrong?” he asks, his eyebrows knitted together
with concern. Mom shakes her head, dipping her fry into some sauce before
chewing thoughtfully. If there is one thing about Lara Voss, she will create
tension wherever she goes for no reason at all.
“No, he’s fine as he can be, honey,” she replies reassuringly, patting
Henry’s arm. “I just had a bad dream. One of those dreams.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
My mom is one of the most spiritual people I know, and she has really
vivid dreams. Nearly every time she has a dream, they come true. Good or
bad, they always come true. She had a dream when I was four that I would
be my high school’s valedictorian. She wrote it down in her diary and never
told me until the day I graduated as - you guessed it - valedictorian. So,
when she says she has a dream, we all listen.
“The dream wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t predicting the future,” she
starts. We wait for her to continue, afraid that interrupting will only draw
out the torturing process. “I can’t place the time, but all I know is that it was
before the coma. I walked into his office, and he was signing some
contracts and he didn’t look happy about it. Which is weird because he is
always in control. He caught my eye and then the door slammed. Next thing
I knew, I was sitting next to him in the hospital, and he looked just how he
looks now.”
“Do you think someone did this to him? On purpose?” Henry asks
exactly what I’m thinking. Sure, I wanted to believe there’d be some cool
mystery I could uncover, but the fact that it could be true makes my
stomach twist.
“I don’t know what to think. It looks too suspicious for it to be a
coincidence,” mom says quietly.
We all let the idea settle over us for a minute. Why would anyone be
after my dad? He might have done some shady stuff back in Italy, but for
the most part, he’s a decent guy. He would never do anything to put us, or
himself, in danger.
“Anyway,” mom chirps. Mine and Henry’s heads snap up at the sudden
liveliness in her tone. “Scarlett, a friend of mine has a son who I need to
introduce you to. He crochets! How cute is that?”
And my chance at a mystery lasted thirty seconds.

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 2
Evan

“Why do you look like this on a Wednesday night? I’m starting to think
that you don’t have any friends, Branson.”
I ignore Miles’ comment for the hundredth time because he can’t let it
go. Having housemates that are hockey players has one perk: they’re
always practising. They’re out on campus for a few hours and then they
usually hang out with their girlfriends. Except for today. Instead, both
Xavier and Miles are up my ass as I try to get ready to go to my dad’s house
to talk. While they get to sit topless on the couch and play ridiculous sports
games all evening, I have to face the wrath of my dad in a tux.
“Just because I have plans with my family, doesn’t mean I don’t have
any friends,” I retort, fixing the sleeves of my suit again. Tailored suits are
all fun and games until you have pulsing anxiety running through your body
while you feel like you’re sweating buckets. “Besides, I'd much rather have
a professionally cooked meal in a mansion than sit around all day like you
slobs.”
“If you’re jealous that we’re comfortable, just say it,” Xavier calls from
the couch.
“Real question, Z,” I begin, looking at myself once more in the
reflection of the refrigerator. I brush my hand through my blonde hair that is
in desperate need of a cut. Another thing I’ve been putting off. I turn around
and lean my forearms on the kitchen hatch that overlooks the living room.
“Shoot,” Xavier replies, not tearing his eyes away from the screen as
his fingers fly rapidly over the controller.
 “Do you ever do any schoolwork? Like, seriously. I only see you train
or sit here all day and I’m genuinely curious as to how you manage to stay
on this scholarship,” I ask with a head tilt.
“Are you being for real or not? I can never tell with you,” he responds,
flickering his confused gaze to me for a second before turning back to the
screen. “I’ll take your silence as a no. I do work, but you’re just never here
when I’m doing it.”
“Huh,” I say disbelievingly, walking out of the kitchen to the entryway
to grab my jacket. As I’m about to say bye and leave, I hear Miles call my
name as if I’ve forgotten something important. I turn back to him, and he
pauses the game before looking at me. “What?”
“Don’t you want to know how I manage it all? How I’m so incredible
at going to school, playing hockey, and managing a relationship,” he grins.
“This feels like a trap, so, I’m going to say no. I don’t really want to
know,” I groan, trying to suppress my laugh.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a man as dramatic as Miles Davis. I
seriously don’t get how Wren has put up with him for the past year. This is
my third year living with him and I can’t stand him most of the time. The
only tolerable thing about him is that he’s a loyal friend.
“You’re right. It was a trap. I don't know how I do it either. It’s
exhausting. Every time I go to study, I just think about Wren and boom,” he
gestures to his lap. “It’s over.”
“Good to know, Davis. The next time I want to know your sexploits,
I’ll let you know in advance,” I say. Neither of them are listening to me
anymore anyway. They both turn back to the game, grunting and shouting
at each other as I slip out of the door.
As expected, my family’s driver, Charles, is waiting in the black
Escalade outside. Charles has been a good friend to our family for years. He
and my dad, Samuel, grew up together in a small town in Vermont and he’d
always been in the loop with the Branson business that my great-great
grandfather founded.
Branson & Co is one of the biggest clothing brands in the states right
now, and it has been for decades. I still don't know the inner workings as to
how the business came to be and how it became such a hit here, but all I
know is that my family is loaded for life.
 My dad says that Charles was never interested in being a part of the
business. Not only is it mostly family-run, but it's also very competitive to
even land an internship working at one of our branches. Charles got his
licence before my dad did and he drove them around for years until my dad
finally got a licence as well. Even now, after I was put on probation from
the business, he’s stuck by me.
Charles rolls down the window and nods at me to get in. He’s dressed
plainly in a black Pal Zileri suit and dark glasses, looking ever so serious. I
can’t take it seriously when I know he’s the same guy who once leaned
against a chocolate fountain at one of our events and ended up covered in
chocolate without realising it. The same guy who embarrassed the hell out
of me when I tried to go to second base with a girl in the back of the car in
high school.
I slide into the backseat, picking up a bottle of water and downing most
of it before leaning back in the chair. Is it cringe to have a playlist that
Charles plays every time I go to my dad’s house? Maybe. As much as I
know the guys would bully me for it, there is nothing better than listening to
dark pop songs and driving on the interstate to the other side of town.
The fifth The Weeknd song is about to play before we stop outside of
the Branson estate. Great. I take a deep breath, thank Charles, and climb out
of the car, dusting off my suit.
I throw my head back before adjusting my collar and start up the gravel
pathway. Growing up here was a dream. A ridiculously privileged and
insane dream. We had weekly charity events in the backyard, we spent
Easter’s doing huge treasure hunts around the whole house, Christmases
with a tree almost as big as the one in Rockefeller. It was perfect for
fourteen glorious years until my mom left. Then shit got really bad.
Everything became about money, B & Co, power, and more money.
All the stupid family traditions ceased to exist when my mom couldn’t
handle it anymore and she left. Since then, coming back home has felt like a
chore just to be caught in another petty argument with my dad.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say he’s a great dad; he’s funny and he’s kind,
but beneath it all, I can tell he’s not happy with me after the stunt I pulled
two years ago. The man knows how to hold a grudge.
I was transferred from Drayton Hills to NU in the first few weeks of my
first year after a very public break up with my ex-girlfriend and high school
sweetheart Catherine Fables. Without the excessive details that I’m
constantly replaying in my mind, let's just say that there was a public
screaming contest on campus which ended up with me on the doorstep of
her dorm, sobbing into an empty packet of Oreo’s.
Although some girls dig the idea of the soft, cry-baby side of me, for
the business, it was a PR disaster with popular gossip sites taking the issue
into their own hands. It also meant that I was stripped from my usual
privileges from the company and thrown into NU to gain some
responsibility and to learn how to present myself better, meaning I keep my
head down and I keep myself to myself. I think I’ve been doing a pretty
good job at that so far.
When I slip into the sleek, black three-storey house the first thing I can
hear is my dad’s voice echoing down the hallway. He’s on the phone.
I don’t get much time to process it before our family Labrador runs up
to me. She’s a chubby girl named Mila. She’s pretty low maintenance after
growing up with her, but she still tries to intertwine herself with my legs
like she’s still a puppy while I try to get closer to my dad’s voice.
“Not now, Mila,” I whisper to her, scratching her ears before shoving
her off to the side and she listens, whining softly.
As I inch closer towards the noise, I figure out who he’s talking to. It’s
Damon. He’s only a few years older than me and has been my dad’s
assistant for the last five years. Assistant is a bit of an understatement.
Damon is the whole reason why my dad’s house is still on all its legs and
the only reason he’s still breathing. He does a lot more than assist my dad
on a day to day basis. Like right now, as he gets called a motherfucker for
something that probably wasn’t even his fault.
I lean against the wall in the family room behind the kitchen. If I press
my back against it hard enough, it can turn in on itself and it’ll swivel
around to face the larger-than-life kitchen area, but I try and keep my
weight off it.
“I told you to do one thing for me, Damon. One fucking thing. If you
can’t do that, I’ll find someone else to do it and you know I can,” my dad
threatens over the phone. There’s a muffled response from Damon which he
grunts and sighs to before continuing. “If you don’t come back to me by the
end of the week with a solid plan, I will cut you off and you can kiss that
Lamborghini you wanted goodbye.”
 His phone slams onto the table and I jump, almost knocking over the
bronze statue on the mantelpiece to my right. I let out a sigh of relief when
the statue teeters before falling soundly back into place.
“If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least be less obvious, boy,” my dad
says cooly on the other side of the wall. He always catches me out
somehow. I don’t have the energy to continue this stupid game, so I turn
and push my hands against the wall until it opens to the kitchen.
My dad is sitting with his back to me, his greying blonde hair cut short
at the nape of his neck which pinches as he throws back a glass of bourbon
before slamming it down onto the bar. I walk cautiously towards him, trying
my best to uphold any sort of composure that I used to have before I got
kicked out.
“Eavesdropping has become my last resort as I have to find out all of
the news from TMZ or a very cryptic message from Charles. And you know
how he is with technology,” I say with ease as I stand across from my dad,
taking in his tense features and furrowed eyebrows. He shakes his head.
“I’m glad you find this situation so amusing, Evan. Truly. When really
you should be ashamed of yourself for getting yourself in this situation,” he
responds, pouring himself another drink, but I snatch it up and drink it
before setting it back down. He doesn't flinch. Instead, he pulls himself a
clean glass, pouring yet another drink.
“Whatever,” I say. “I have two questions, dad. One: what have I done to
be summoned here again? And two: what did Damon do for you to rip him
a new one?”
He blinks at me for a second, sipping his drink before placing it back
down. “Damon is acting a fool, as per usual, but surprisingly you’ve done
nothing particularly wrong.”
“‘Surprisingly?’ What’s surprising about me being the perfect kid I’ve
always been?” I beam, pushing a hand through my hair for extra emphasis
as I puff out my chest proudly.
He laughs a little at this before painting on his serious expression. He’s
susceptible to my charm more often than not nowadays. Only because he
doesn’t have to deal with it as frequently.
“You have not always been perfect, Evan.”
“I have. You were just too dumb to realise it, old man.” I push off the
counter and rest my hands on the bar table, trying to regain control of the
conversation. “But, really, what am I doing here? I’m sure you didn’t force
me to come just to eavesdrop and have a good drink. I actually have classes
and shit to do.”
He hums, sipping back the last of his bourbon as he thinks. “You have
good grades, don’t you?”
“Perfect grades.” Straight A’s in fact. As much as people my age don’t
give a shit about school, it’s one of the only things I’m actually good at.
Plus, my classes are pretty easy.
“Right,” he replies cautiously. “I have something I’d like you to do, as
long as it doesn’t mess with your studies. This is a perfect opportunity for
you to earn your way back to B & Co since Damon is too damn slow.”
My heart almost leaps out of my ribcage. I have to take a step back and
grip my chest for a beat before letting my heart rate settle. I’ve been trying
to get my dad to trust me again to get back to how my life used to be. When
I’m done having a mini freak-out, I finally focus back on my dad.
“Yes. Yeah, sure. I’ll do anything,” I say quickly, feeling the way my
face burns. I clear my throat as my dad’s mouth lifts up in a smirk before
smothering it with his glass.
“I heard the youngest of the Voss kids still go to North. Is that true?” he
asks, his eyebrow arched.
Fuck me.
Why did the mention of Scarlett make me tense up and he didn’t even
say her name?
I’ve gotten to know her a lot more in the past year with our friend
groups being so close, but she would cut off my balls if I tried to look at her
outside class or when our groups are forced to hang out.
She seems to hate me whenever we’re in the same room, but it’s hard to
take her seriously when she tried to kidnap me a few weeks ago and
accused me of stealing her ridiculous whiteboard.
It doesn’t help that our families have been deep in competition for
decades. She’s a smartass and is always trying to one-up me in class but I
let her. She hates me and I act like I hate her too. It’s how we work. What
she doesn’t know is that we’re a lot more alike than she wants to admit.
“Yeah,” I say finally, swallowing the ball in my throat. “Only their
daughter, though. She’s in my class, and one of her best friends is dating my
housemate.”
 “Great,” he begins. He pauses, murmuring to himself before meeting
my gaze. “I’m sure you know that her dad’s in the hospital, don’t you?
Well, he has been for weeks.”
I nod but he doesn’t follow it up with anything. “You…We…We didn’t
have anything to do with that, did we? I know he’s seen as a threat, but I
once caught him shrieking over a bee at an event. So, he seems harmless.”
He cuts my rambling with a wave of his hand in the air. “No, Evan, we
– or anyone we’re associated with – didn’t have anything to do with it.
That’s the problem. We’re his biggest competitors so it seems like we had
something to do with it. I can assure you that we did not. It’s too much of a
coincidence that around the time things started getting heated with their
family, he mysteriously fell into a coma, but none of us were responsible.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?” I ask wearily.
“If you know his daughter, try, and get closer to her and find out what
she thinks. If we can get a lead in this, we can find a way to take him down
before it hits the press,” my dad explains, his eyes lighting up with the same
fire and intensity as it always does when competition is in the mix.
“I, uh, I don't know if I can do that,” I respond, taking a generous sip of
my drink.
“Why not? You want to be back in don't you?”
“Yes. Of course, I do. More than anything. But isn't there a way we can
do this without hurting anyone. Scarlett’s…” God, how do you describe the
same girl who threatened to punch me in the dick when I spat out her
cookies which she forced us eat at the BBQ we had in summer. The same
girl who shoved bacon in my face last Christmas, yet still had it in her to
drive my drunk ass home afterwards. I can’t tell my dad that. So, I lie.
“She's different from them. She’s a handful, she’s snarky and competitive.
But, beneath that… she’s nice is all I mean.”
“You don't have to play nice, Evan. If you want this badly enough,
you’ll find a way to get more information without breaking her heart if
that’s what you’re worried about.”
It’s one of the many things I’m worried about when it comes to her.

* * *
 After Charles drops me off back home, I try to rack my brain for some
sort of game-plan. I can’t just start texting her out of nowhere to get her to
speak to me. Fuck. I don’t think Miles would even trust me with her
number. Z probably has it, but he can’t keep a secret to save his life.
Instead, I settle for the easiest option which is to wait for Miles and
Xavier’s next hockey game, which Wren will drag her to and ambush her
then.
“Do you know how to play the game, dude? How are you losing with
the best squad in the game?” Miles shouts to Xavier as I walk behind the
couch to the kitchen.
They continue shouting at each other until I sit down on the couch
across from them with my tie loosened and a bottle of water in my hand.
My dad and I had a huge steak dinner and I’m exhausted. Xavier shoots me
a glance then turns back to the screen. Then back to me.
“You’re back already?” he asks, turning back to the screen again as his
fingers fly over the buttons.
“I was gone for three hours, you idiots,” I retort.
“Oh,” Miles says.
“Have you really been playing this entire time?” I ask. They both nod
in unison before Miles turns to me for a split second while Xavier takes a
penalty on the screen.
“It's a no-breaks-allowed kind of game,” he replies, howling at the
screen when Xavier ’s goal goes in.
“What if one of you needs to take a leak?”
“That’s what the buckets are for,” Xavier replies, nodding his head to a
bucket I hadn’t noticed was there and I grimace. “I’m kidding. That’s where
we catch our trick shots with the ping-pong ball, obviously.”
“Right. Obviously,” I respond sarcastically. Every day I learn
something new about the people I live with. The game ends and Miles sighs
heavily at his defeat as he turns to me.
“Wanna play?”
I pause for a second before nodding. Why the hell not? He throws the
controller at me and walks me through the first few steps of the game.
I look from the controller to the screen every few seconds as I watch
the avatar move around in a zigzag. I try to gain control, but Xavier is not
going easy on me, and he tackles me as he shoots into the net, earning me a
loud whoop in response.
“Jesus, Evan, you really can’t play for shit,” Miles hollers, laughing as
he sinks back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “You need to
have better coordination than that. Don’t you play the guitar or something?”
“Piano,” I correct, trying to think of the last time I sat in front of a
Steinway. It’s been too long. I try to concentrate on the screen, my player
running down in the wrong direction. “And they’re really not the same
thing.”
“Potato, potahto,” Miles grumbles. “You’re too stressed out for a
twenty-year-old. Just chill. When was the last time you slept with someone,
seriously?”
“I dunno,” I say, not ready to engage in this kind of conversation with
one of the most talkative people I’ve ever met. I don’t know how Wren
copes.
“It might help you loosen up,” Xavier chimes in.
“Yeah, maybe,” I murmur, still trying to figure out how to play this
fucking game. I throw the controller back to Miles who has been itching his
hands like he can’t deal without playing for a few minutes. “Hey, Miles.
How’s, uh… how’s Scarlett?”
Miles’ head whips around at me, his eyebrows drawn together as his
lips pull up into a smirk. “Why are you asking me? Didn’t she hold you
hostage when Wren and I were at her sister’s wedding?”
“Yeah, but not much talking happened. Kinda hard to ask how she’s
doing when it was more her shouting at me and trying to get me to confess
to something I didn’t do. I haven’t spoken to her since then.”
“She’s fine…I guess,” Miles says, shrugging. “Wait? You’re not asking
because of what I said about needing to get laid, are you?”
My breath catches in my throat. “No!” I’m practically yelling. Jesus.
This is going great. “No,” I say more calmly. “I was just wondering. You
know, mutual friends and all that.”
“Good. You guys hate each other. And if you ever touched her, Wren
would have an aneurysm and I would somehow get blamed for it. So don't
think about it,” Miles warns, and I nod. “Plus, she has, like, four brothers.
That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
 “People love me,” I say proudly. Miles and Xavier throw each other a
glance before bursting into a fit of laughter. It’s not long before I join in on
their hysterical screams.

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 3
Scarlett

Having a break between second and third period doesn’t mean taking a
well-deserved break like the rest of the class, it means running across
campus to meet in the middle where Kennedy’s art classroom is.
I have ten minutes to catch up with the girls like we do every time
between our double periods but this time we were summoned by Ken for an
emergency meeting. The rink that Wren practices at is at the other side of
the campus so the art studio is the middle-ground from my business class.
I run through a dark corridor past the school's dark room, towards the
art classroom and I make my way through stressed out students until I find
my stressed out student, basically ripping out her low pigtails.
Kennedy is sitting in the corner with a sketchbook in front of her, her
blue denim dungarees covered in paint splatters, tugging at the band of her
pigtails letting both bands break in half as her curly hair springs free.
I inch closer to her, not sure which Ken I’m about to interact with right
now. As I take a step closer, I feel a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back
into the corridor which I just exited. I recognise the hand immediately
because we just got matching manicures a few days ago.
“She’s freaking out,” Wren says when we’re face to face in the corridor,
both of her hands on my shoulders, shaking me like an insane person.
“Yeah, I can tell. Why are you freaking out? You’re scaring me,” I say,
removing her lethal grip from my shoulders. She brushes her blonde hair
over her shoulder and exhales deeply, her green eyes searching mine. God, I
swear I have the most dramatic friends to ever exist.
 “She’s got a deadline for a project and that empty canvas in there is all
she’s done. I’ve tried to help, but I think I’m making it worse,” she replies.
“That doesn’t sound like her. She’s usually on top of these things,” I
say, trying to figure out how this could have happened.
When we were all freaking out about our exams at the end of last year,
she was ahead of us all and helped Wren with her creative writing course.
As chaotic as she is, her work always comes first for her and it’s a trait of
hers I’ve always admired.
“Yeah, I know,” Wren says. She blinks at me for a minute, not saying
anything. Kennedy is the literal glue to our group — if she’s freaking out,
we’re all freaking out. “Can you try and talk to her? Darcy will have my
head if I’m not back in two minutes.”
I nod and take a deep breath before entering the room again. Her hair
has become a wild mess of curls and coils as she runs her hands through it
nervously, tapping her pencil on the empty sketchbook. She looks up at me.
A faint smile paints across her face before returning down to her book.
“Hey,” she says quietly, not tearing her eyes from the blank page. I
check the time quickly, realising I only have a few minutes before I need to
make my way back to class.
“Hey.”
“Are you here to give me a pep talk? I really don’t think I can deal with
that right now. Wren’s one was really shitty,” she mumbles, finally drawing
faint lines with her pencil. I pull out a chair across from her and laugh.
“I’m not here to give you a pep talk, Ken. I am, however, here to tell
you that you can, and you will finish the project before the deadline.”
“This is starting to sound like a pep talk,” she murmurs. I shoot her a
stern look. “The deadline is in three days.”
“Three days? Shit. I thought it was like a month or something,” I say,
and she groans loudly, pushing the sketchbook away from her as she drops
her head onto the table. “Okay, okay. Listen, you are one of the strongest,
coolest, funniest, and most talented people I know. I’m not just saying that
cause we’ve known each other forever. I’m being dead serious. Your work
is insane and so much better than half of the stuff I’ve seen around the
department.”
She lifts her head up, resting on her forearms as she mumbles into her
skin, “Thanks, but that isn’t going to help.”
 “It better help, Ken. You can’t give up on this. This is your dream.
You’re not working your ass off at Florentino’s for nothing. And we all
know coffee gives you a stomachache, so don’t act like you can justify it.”
“You’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right,” I say, and she smiles. I push out my seat to stand
up. “I have to go back to class though. We’ll talk later, okay?”
She nods and I have three minutes to get back to my class. The only
thing I forgot was that this break clashes with the freshman lunchtime,
meaning that everybody and their mothers are out in the corridors. Fucking
hell. This school needs to invest in bigger hallways because there is no way
I’m getting back to my class in time.
Sometimes if Mr Anderson is in a particularly shitty mood, he locks us
out, making us catch up with notes in our own time. Still, this is my third
year here at NU and I still don’t get how he’s legally allowed to do so.
I make the brave decision to cut across the football field instead,
finding this route to be more effective to get back to class. The first
semester of this year only started a few weeks ago so the football team isn't
exactly paying much attention to me cutting across their field, except for the
one boy who does a double take when he realises that my red-bottoms are
sinking into the muddy pitch.
I’m clearly not paying attention either because that’s why I collide with
the body standing at the top of the stairs, in front of the doors to the
business building.
“Jesus. Can you watch where you’re going?” the boy grumbles,
pushing me away from him. I take two steps back, almost falling down the
steps, but he latches onto my elbow, steadying me.
“My bad. I was just-” I say, the words falling out of my mouth
automatically before I look up and of course it’s him.
Evan fucking Branson; the literal bane of my existence.
He enjoys getting under my skin just as much as I enjoy getting under
his. He’s spent his last two years at NU torturing me, turning every class
game into a competition and not to mention, he’s rich as hell, as his family’s
clothing brand is one of the top in the States, rivalling mine. Also, I think
it’s very important to mention that he’s blonde, which speaks for itself.
I yank my arm out of his grip as he stubs out his cigarette on the railing.
I brush past him, pushing through the doors and into the corridor. And
obviously, we’re walking to the same class, so I can hear his footsteps a few
paces behind me.
“God, if you’re going to smoke, at least do it off campus,” I mutter,
pulling my bag up higher on my shoulder. He steps in beside me, walking
with me. For once, he’s not that dressed up and has ditched his usual
tailored suit for baggy light washed jeans and a white tee. It makes him
seem more human. Interesting.
“Thanks for the advice, Angel,” he replies. I take a quick glance at him,
glaring at his insistent use of that stupid nickname. “You’re awfully late for
someone who cares so much about this class.”
“And so are you,” I retort, trying to pick up the pace so I don’t have to
look at him.
“Why?” he asks.
“Why, what?”
“Why are you late?”
I always try my best to keep conversation with him to a minimum
because the more we speak, the closer I get to ripping his head off. He stops
outside the door to the lecture theatre, arms across his chest, waiting for me
to say something.
“Do you always ask this many questions or are you choosing to be
extra irritating today?” I ask curiously.
“Do you always have something to say or are you incapable of shutting
up?”
I match his stance, pinning my arms across my chest, narrowing my
eyes at him. He has the tendency of making every single thing that comes
out of his mouth sound like an insult, it’s almost like he’s begging me to
strangle him. I can’t last a day at school without his stupid comments on
everything that I do, disguising it as ‘constructive criticism.’ He stares back
at me, and I still can’t tell if his eyes are blue or green.
I lean back on the class door, slightly pushing it open behind me as I
whisper to him, “For the record, I’m not being quiet because you told me to.
I simply don’t want to waste anymore of my breath on you.”
Then, because I’m petty and seeing his face pisses me off, I slip
through the door, shutting it on him before walking up to my seat in the half
full room.
 I make it halfway up the stairs before Evan finally appears through the
door and I smirk.
“Miss Voss and Mr Branson, I’m glad you didn’t get lost on your way
back to class,” Mr Anderson says when I get my laptop and notebook out of
my bag, pushing it onto my desk. He’s one of the greatest teachers in our
department, even if most of our lessons end with a forty minute rant about
his ex-wife.
I watch as Evan takes a seat at the front of the class because like me, he
doesn’t exactly have anyone waiting for him in here.
As embarrassing as it is to admit, I don't have many friends in this
class. Well, I don’t have many friends in general. It’s always just been me,
Wren, and Kennedy since we were kids and I like it that way. I’ve always
been fine with solitude. I’ve had to be, growing up with all brothers and
feeling like the odd one out.
People either don’t care about my existence or hate me because they
think I've got everything handed to me, which couldn’t be further from the
truth. I worked hard for my spot at North University, and I’ve never once
taken that for granted. I've accepted the way I'm going to be perceived and
I'm fine with it. But it stings that I have to sit here and play the “I hate you
so much that it makes me sick” game with Branson while everyone else can
laugh and talk with their friends.
That's why it sucks when I swear I hear Anderson introduce a new
project for this year. I raise my hand, almost knocking over my water bottle
in the process. This can’t be happening.
“Yes, Scarlett?”
“Uh, sorry, but could you repeat that? I think I just missed the end of
that,” I say nervously as slowly, one by one, people in the rows below me
turn towards me, snickering. I swear it’s like high school all over again. I sit
up straighter, pushing my dark brown hair over my shoulder, feigning
confidence.
“I’ve been talking for the last hour, but you only missed the end of it?”
Anderson asks. I shrug. “You need to start paying more attention. I want to
do something a little different to incorporate productivity and fun for this
year. So, I’d like everyone to pair up with someone else in the class and I
want you to create a hypothetical business. It can be anything from clothing
to food, to an app; I’m not fussed. As long as you can present to me a
project by the end of the school year on how you would market your
business, your target audience, and the realistic ways you would build it
from the ground up. It might come more naturally to some more than
others, but the whole point is for this to be some fun before we…”
That’s about where I start to drone him out.
I’m confident in all the ways that matter, but not with talking to people
my own age, especially those that make it no secret that they don’t like me.
I’ve always found it hard to make friends, but the friends that I do have, I
hold them dear to my heart and I appreciate them more than anything. It’s
the making of them that sucks the most and is the hardest.
The sound of Evan’s annoying voice draws me back to the class. “Do
we get to choose our own partners?” Anderson nods and the strangest thing
happens: Evan turns back to me, looks me dead in the eye and he smiles.
Not a sweet, genuine smile, but one that holds mischief. Danger.
No. No.
He wouldn’t.
Oh, but he would. He’d do it just to torture me.
I raise my hand this time. “Can we also reject offers of partnership?”
Anderson sighs, pushing his glasses up his head. “I don’t care. As long
as you come to me with a project before summer break, then it’s fine.”
With that, everyone in the class rushes around, yelling and finding their
partners and I sit there, hoping that someone will be left without a partner
and lead me to pair up with them. I don’t think I could handle the rejection
right now if I tried to ask someone.
When my row has cleared, people partnering in different sides of the
lecture theatre, Evan turns back around, leaning on the table behind him
with a lazy smile hanging off his lips.
“Then there were two,” he drawls.
I roll my eyes. “There’s one: you. I would rather drop out of this class
than work with you for the next few months.”
“We’re really carrying this on, huh?” Evan says, chuckling low. I’m
glad he finds this so amusing because I cannot work with him. “Our
housemates are dating, the least we can do is be civil with each other.”
“This is me being civil,” I retort. He raises his eyebrows at me, tilting
his head.
“Really? ‘Cause it looks like you're ready to gauge my eyes out.”
 “Listen, Branson, this is not going to work out.”
“Why not?” he asks, scratching his eyebrow, not taking his eyes off me
as if he can see right through me. “It’s not like people are exactly lining up
to work with us.”
I pin my arms across my chest, suddenly feeling defensive. I know he
doesn’t have many friends in this class either, but admitting it aloud,
watching everyone else being paired up, makes it seem more real.
“What’s in it for you?” I ask.
“You're the smartest person in here, second to me, and I could do with
some extra credits. It turns out that going on vacation during the semester
isn't always the smartest idea,” he admits. Of course, he believes he’s the
smartest person in every room he walks into.
I try to mull over the idea. In reality, it could work, but that would mean
having to speak to him nearly every day and interact with him when I don’t
need to. It also means putting up with more competition than usual,
purposefully letting him get under my skin.
“Just being in your presence gives me a headache,” I mutter, rubbing at
my temples for extra effect. It can’t be a coincidence that since I’ve seen
him and his snobbish self, my head has started to hurt.
“Oh, ‘cause you’re such a delight, aren’t you, Angel?” My body
automatically shivers, and he smirks when he watches the way I squirm.
“Believe me, I don't want to do this as much as you do. I need the grade and
you're my best shot at getting it. Are we clear?”
I roll my neck before nodding, adding, “Fine.”

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 4
Evan

Something doesn’t feel right.

Since that conversation with my dad, I’ve been feeling on edge. Well,
more on edge than usual. And I hate it. I especially hate that Scarlett spent
the entire lesson ignoring my proposals and glaring at me with her killer
hazel eyes.
This all feels like it’s too easy. My dad told me to get more involved
with her and then Anderson’s project just fell into my lap. I’m lucky that
neither of us are well-liked in this class. Still, I know I’m the last person she
would want to work with.
I wasn’t lying about spending most of my money on short getaways
during the semester, so my grades have started to slip. Being good at school
always came pretty naturally to me, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been
working hard at NU. With or without my family’s money, North University
is an expensive place to get into and I can’t exactly risk my spot when I’m
slowly being cut off from my family. I was planning on slowly inserting
myself into Scarlett’s life, finally getting her to see me as a friend, let her
open up to me and then do what my dad needs me to do. I wasn’t expecting
to have to see her all the time so suddenly, especially when I don’t have a
plan. And I always plan.
As soon as Anderson dismissed the class, Scarlett practically bolted
away from me, not giving me any chance to ask her any follow-up
questions. Not like she would answer any of them anyway.
Since Miles and Wren have started dating, I’ve had to see her more
than usual and you'd think she would've warmed up to me by now, but she
hasn’t.
Since first year, we’ve had this weird competitive thing going on which
I thought she would drop after a few weeks, but she is relentless and if she
wants to continue to play this game, I’m happy to play by her rules.
Most of the time, she says things that make me want to cover her mouth
and tell her to shut up, but other times, her insults are so out of pocket that I
have to stick my tongue in my cheek, so I don’t laugh. If she wants to
pretend she doesn’t like me, I can play along. I’ve always been good at
acting.
After that painfully awkward and irritating class, I was left alone with
my thoughts to think of a game plan. Which lasted about three seconds
before Miles and Xavier came back from practice.
They’ve been sitting in front of the TV, watching the football highlights
for the past hour while I cook in the kitchen. I might have had chefs at my
house growing up, but I know my way around a kitchen. Cooking is one of
those calculated, put together things that I can do when I’ve had a long day
that makes me feel more in control, which is exactly what I need right now.
I don’t know why this whole situation is getting me so riled up. If I had
more time to think about a plan, maybe I wouldn’t be feeling this way. I
want more than anything to get back in on the business, having more access
behind the scenes, for my dad to stop looking at me like he’s disappointed
in me, waiting for me to fuck up again.
A civil relationship with Scarlett could also be a benefit to both of us. It
would make group hang out sessions less awkward and with both of our
intelligence, we could create an outstanding project. If only she would let
me in.
I finish preparing the vegetables, placing them in a pan for the stir-fry,
grabbing some seasonings to add to the pot, loving the smell that wafts off
them. This is what I need. Just me, the kitchen, and the smell of homemade
chicken stir fry.
“Did you talk to her?” Miles shouts from the living room. At first I
think he’s talking to Xavier because he has no volume control, but he
doesn’t respond.
“Who?” I ask, turning down the heat on the food.
“Scarlett, you idiot,” he replies.
“Oh. Yeah. We have to work together on a project for class.”
 Xavier and Miles laugh and when they come down from their hysterical
laughter, Miles says, “Oh, I bet she’s loving that.”
There must be some sort of inside joke I’m missing. I get it. She
doesn’t like me. She’s not necessarily my favourite person either when she’s
being mean to me. I know people pick up on our animosity, but I can’t
shake the feeling that there’s something going on behind closed doors that I
don’t know about.
“Do you actually know why she doesn't like me, or what?” I ask,
scratching the back of my neck, a nervous tick I have had since I was a kid
that I haven’t been able to get rid of.
“It’s a mystery,” Miles says dramatically, sighing. “Mostly, I think she
just doesn’t like your face,” he mutters, and I throw him an evil look,
narrowing my eyes.
“Carry on, Davis, because I know a few ways to poison food,” I retort.
“Hey! The food doesn’t deserve that,” Xavier adds in, and I roll my
eyes. “Well, if it’s completely necessary, poison Miles’s food only.”
I’m about to thank Xavier for his basic decency to not piss me off, but
Miles interrupts. “Do you remember that time when Scar was dating Jake
and they came over and she accidentally threw a beer can at you?”
It was not accidental at all. Based on the way she smiled at me
afterwards, flipping me the bird as she drank from her cup, it was a planned
and calculated move to piss me off. For whatever reason, that is not the part
of the sentence that I caught on.
“I thought she didn’t date,” I say and the way I sound like I actually
care is pathetic. I don’t care if she dates or not because I know her
reputation. It’s typical of girls with her status. She meets someone, sleeps
with them, and never sees them again. I’ve met Jake a few times and it still
baffles me that she ever let that rat anywhere near her for longer than a one-
night-stand.
“She doesn’t,” Miles says.
“But you just-”
“Anyway, she's a violent one,” he says, cutting me off as he shovels
popcorn into his mouth, still watching the TV. He swallows, dusting the
crumbs off his shirt, adding, “I’d sleep with one eye open if I were you.”
“I just don’t get it,” I mutter, turning off the cooker completely,
rounding the wall into the living room, taking a seat across from them.
“What is there not to like about me?”
Miles doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “You think you’re better than
everyone else.” That’s because most times, I am. “You’re always calling
people out on their mistakes.” It’s important to do so. “And you care too
much about stupid things like school and money.”
I snort. “Miles, those are two very important things.”
“See,” he says, gesturing to me as he gets up, wandering into the
kitchen. “That’s what I mean about you thinking you know everything.”
Then he mumbles something about how money and school won’t matter
when he’s in the NHL.
Great.
So, I’m back at square one. I still don’t know why Scarlett doesn’t like
me and I don’t know how I’m going to get her to trust me and open up to
me.
It’s easy enough to use the project as a front to talk to her, but she’s
stubborn enough as it is. I need to think of a plan, and I need to think of one
fast. Finding out what happened to her dad needs to be my main priority.
If she cracks in the process, I can pick up the pieces afterwards.

OceanofPDF.com
 5
Scarlett

It’s all fun and games when you go to a party on a Thursday night,
forgetting you have a lecture the next morning and you have to turn up
hungover. It’s already one thing to be hungover – my head is throbbing; my
back is sore, and my thighs are aching for reasons it hurts too much to
explain. It’s another thing to be hungover and listen to Evan Branson talk
shit all morning.
Friday morning lectures are the one time of the week where I decide to
switch my brain off for two hours. It’s the seminars where I am more
interested in arguing with this fool, but today he’s been trying to get on
everyone’s nerves for reasons I can’t find. He’s been arguing back and forth
with the lecturer for the last five minutes about different marketing
techniques that huge cities use to increase sales. It’s a topic that interests me
as much as a jar of peanut butter. A total snoozefest.
I’m not the only one who has had enough of his bullshit. Everyone in
the room is sighing quietly, scribbling aimlessly and Evan doesn’t seem to
notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care. The old professor, one
of the most experienced and interesting teachers we have on the course, is
reluctantly trying to change the slides, but Evan doesn’t give him a minute
of leeway.
I finally try to put an end to it and raise my hand. “I actually have a
question for Evan, if that’s okay, professor,” I say, a bored expression
falling across my face. Evan turns around from his seat in the row below,
the top of his cheeks a tiny shade of red, his green-ish-blue eyes rolling as
he looks at me.
 “Go ahead,” the professor murmurs, probably giving up on teaching. I
give him a sympathetic smile before locking my gaze with Evan’s
displeasing face.
“Is your head really that far up your ass that you think people will be
dying to buy products just because a half-decent male is on the cover of a
billboard?” I ask in the most serious tone I can muster. A few snickers
scatter around the room and I cross my arms against my chest, titling my
head to the side in challenge.
Despite the insult, he smirks. “It’s classic. Old school. It’s what works.”
I scoff. “Yes, fifty years ago when you’d have to sell your lung to
afford a cell phone. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but technology has
advanced since then. And if your family’s business knew that you’d be
getting a lot more monthly sales than you are now.”
It’s a low blow and embarrassing to admit that I constantly check
B&Co’s statistics. They’re almost too easy to access and sometimes when
I’m having a bad day, it makes me feel better that they’re also doing just as
bad.
Evan opens his mouth to speak, his eyebrows knitted in confusion, but
the lecturer cuts him off, shaking his head. “You make a valid point,
Scarlett. What would you suggest is a better marketing tool?”
“That’s easy,” I say to him. “Video advertising. It’s the best-”
“Of course,” Evan mutters under his breath, cutting me off.
I roll my eyes. “Think about it for one second before cutting me off,
you moron. You’ve already had your moment,” I bite out. His eyes widen at
the sharpness in my tone before another mischievous smirk spreads across
his face. I swear he just loves to piss me off.
“Language,” the professor warns.
I take in a deep breath. “Right. Sorry. All I’m saying is that no matter
how annoying they can be, a good commercial, a funny one, draws people
in more than a billboard you pass by on the way to your grandparent’s
house upstate. I’m sure everyone has those adverts from their childhood
that they’ll never forget. It’s all about being memorable, something that’ll
draw you into a particular brand.”
The room fills with hums of agreement, and I feel satisfied with my
answer. Everyone except Evan seems to agree with my answer as he just
frowns at me.
 “And you don’t think a billboard could do that? Be memorable, I
mean,” he argues, and I shake my head. “Not even with a naked man on the
cover?”
“Something so in my face just puts me off more than anything,” I say
with a shudder, remembering the amount of posters and billboards I’ve seen
with huge men on them. I can admit it draws you in, but not in the way you
want to be drawn into a brand or product.
Evan tilts his head, leaning his forearms on the desk, the skin on his
arms a golden and weirdly intriguing colour. He catches me looking at his
arms and I snap my eyes up to his face. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t
want to see Chris Evans in an underwear campaign on a huge poster that
you could see from your apartment window?”
I actually laugh at that. “Of course, I would, but do I want to see his
bulge when I’m having a bad day and it’s right in my face? No way,” I say,
shaking my head again. I turn back to the professor, unable to look at his
ridiculous face any longer. “I think some of us are forgetting that it’s not
always the size that matters.”

* * *

Trying to nurse a hangover with your two best friends hovering around
you as they very loudly tell you about their day is the worst thing in the
world. I’ve been trying to get some peace and quiet in our apartment for the
last hour since I came back early from campus. I thought that hiding in my
room would work, but these girls will find a way to find me and annoy me.
I’m snuggled under my covers in sweatpants and a tank top, planning to
hibernate for the rest of the day while I mentally prepare myself for having
to meet up with Evan at some point to get started on our project. Just the
thought of it makes me pull the covers around my head tighter.
Kennedy yanks them off my head, sitting beside Wren at the end of my
bed.
“How was your day then, Scar-Scar?” Kennedy asks me, her whole
face lighting up at the nickname she knows I hate.
“Great, until you two came in here,” I mutter, playing tug of war with
Ken as she tries to pull the covers away from me. “You went out too last
night. How are you not dead?”
She laughs, giving up on our fight. “Because I know how to handle my
drink,” she says easily. I roll my eyes, jealous of her unique talent to
constantly stay tipsy throughout the night and can only get drunk if she
really really tries to. I, however, don’t have that luck. And neither does
Wren, which is why she stayed in with her boyfriend last night instead of
coming out with us.
“You’re coming to the game today, by the way,” Wren says, her voice
chipper as always as she stands off my bed, opening my closet.
“Am I?” I groan. I’ve gotten to the point where these girls make my
decisions for me, and I just go along with them. I don’t mind it for the most
part, but going to hockey games stresses me out more than I enjoy it. The
NU Bears are notorious for causing fights and always having some sort of
drama with either their own team or whoever they’re playing against.
“Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p’ as she reaches into my closet and pulls
out the practice jersey that her boyfriend so generously gifted to Kennedy
and I so we could represent their team at the games. She throws the shirt at
me. “It’s only a friendly, but you know what Milesy’s like. Every game
counts.”
“Fine,” I say, not wanting to argue over it. Wren’s face lights up when I
agree, her cheeks turning the cutest shade of pink. If it means making her
smile like that, I’d go to as many games as she wants me to. Plus, this also
means I’ll won’t end up with a hundred texts from Miles asking why I
didn’t go to one of his games.
Her smile twitches into a frown and I crook an eyebrow. “And, uh, I
think Evan’s coming too. So, you know, prepare yourself.”
The minor – and I mean minor – excitement I had about going to the
game completely dissipates. “Consider me prepared.”

Evan
You know it’s bad when your friend gives you a two hour notice before
letting you know that the only seats left in the small stadium are the ones
with your rival and her friends. I’m trying to be a better ‘friend’ to Miles
and Xavier, and they’ve been complaining that I don’t go to their hockey
games enough even though the season hasn’t started properly.
I don’t particularly like hockey games.
I don’t understand it and I don’t get why Greyson and Miles are
constantly in and out of the penalty box like it’s a personal game between
the two of them. They’re constantly fighting the other team, whilst Harry,
the youngest one on the Bear’s team, stands with his head in his hands,
embarrassed. At least it’s entertaining.
What they didn’t prepare me for was how fucking sexy Scarlett would
look.
I’ve always been attracted to her – I mean, I have eyes and I’m not a
complete idiot – but it’s always been her wonderful and complicated mind
of hers that drew me in. But seeing her here in a NU Bear’s training jersey,
a blue cap on her head and her ponytail threaded through the back as she
rocks the sexiest fucking leggings I’ve ever seen.
“If you look any longer, she’s going to notice,” Kennedy whispers. I
don’t think I fully register that Kennedy is sitting on one side of me while
Wren, and Scarlett walking down the aisle to our seats until I hear her
voice. I’ll be honest, Kennedy scares me sometimes. She’s always sneaking
around, trying to push me and Scarlett into the same room, the same way
she used to scheme to get Wren and Miles together before they started fully
dating.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter, turning to Kennedy.
She narrows her brown eyes at me, and I notice the blue face paint she has
on her cheek with Harry Butler’s number nineteen on it. Weird.
“Yeah, sure you don’t,” she mocks, “you know, you could just-”
“Shhh,” I say to her, cutting her off with a wave of my hand. “The
game is starting.”
Her eyebrows pull together in confusion as she glances to the ice and
then back to me. “It’s not.”
I turn away from her as she sulks, crossing her arms against her chest
and turning back to the ice. I feel bad for cutting her off, but she’s up to
something, or she knows something she shouldn’t. And that fucking
terrifies me. I know how close those girls are and if she caught me staring at
her, she’s going to think more of the very subtle looks I’ve been sending
Scarlett.
 She takes her seat next to me, her fresh and crisp smell reaching me.
She doesn’t even look at me as she says, “Branson.”
“Scarlett,” I greet, smirking to myself. I feel her gaze on me as I turn
my head away from hers. It was only a few hours ago when she tripped me
up in class, wanting to make a fool of me and like the idiot I can be, I let
her.
“It’s a pleasure as always,” she says.
“I wish I could say the same,” I murmur. I turn to her then, and I can
see the way she’s biting her cheek, trying not to laugh or smile. “I bet
you’re proud of yourself, huh?”
“Oh, extremely,” she says, turning to me, a huge grin taking over her
face. “You should have seen your face.”
I grunt in response, dying to roll my eyes. “Has anyone ever told you
how insufferable you are?”
“No, but you must really love to suffer then,” she says.
I open my mouth, a witty comeback on the edge of my tongue, but the
lights in the stadium dim and the blue lights light up the rink and everyone’s
attention is turned to the ice. As the players skate onto the ice, the student
commentator announcing each player, the girls jump up out of their seats,
cheering them on. It baffles me how easily Scarlett can switch from being a
complete ass towards me and then becomes this loveable ball of energy
when she’s with her friends. Beats me.
For once, I let myself get engrossed in the game, desperately trying to
understand the rules of the game. Miles and Harry both manage to get a few
shots in, and Xavier too. They make it look so easy. So effortless. Either the
other team is really shitty or they’re just that good. I can see why it interests
people so much – the chants, the music, the fighting, the celebrations.
Something about watching a hockey game turns the least competitive
people into complete animals and it’s hilarious.
I watch Scarlett sulk and groan when the other team catch up in points
with the Bear’s and I hate myself for finding it so fucking adorable. The
team finally gets back up in points as Miles scores a goal which seems
humanly impossible.
When the shot lands, Wren jumps up from her seat, screaming and
yelling like a complete mad woman. Miles sees her and points his hockey
stick at her before making a heart with his hands. Kennedy lets out a
dreamy sigh and Scarlett gags beside me.
When the second period ends with the teams tying, Kennedy and Wren
talk across me as they converse over tactics I can’t seem to understand.
Scarlett must get the same out of place feeling I do because she jumps up
from her seat, smoothing out her shirt.
“I’m going to get some snacks. Do you want some more popcorn,
Ken?” she asks, and Kennedy shakes her head, still talking to Wren.
“I’ll come,” I say, standing up out of my seat too. She rolls her eyes at
me, walking off without me, but I chase after her, almost tripping down the
steps. How is she so fucking fast? I’m practically panting when I reach her,
but by the time I get there, she’s talking to a dark haired guy by the vending
machine.
This is not how I saw this going. Really, I don’t know why I said I’d
come with her, but I also didn’t want to sit in the middle of Wren and
Kennedy’s conversation either. Instead, I’m torturing myself, watching her
openly flirt with this guy who hasn’t stopped dropping his gaze to her chest
when there’s nothing really to see.
I try to tune out their conversation as I watch her fiddle with her
ponytail, leaning against the vending machine. I hear the word flowers and
a few other sickly sweet things that make my stomach turn. I can only
imagine how she’s looking at him as her back is to me. I know what she’s
like. She’s a playgirl, she’ll probably get his number, fuck him once and
never speak to him again, but that doesn’t make this whole thing any less
painful.
When he’s finally gone after giving her his number and she slips it into
her pocket, I finally stand closer to her next to the vending machine. She
doesn’t even look at me as she punches in the code to get the snacks she
wants.
“Are you seriously that easy to win over, Angel?” I mock as the
machine whirs. “A few flowers and some sweet words are all it takes, huh?”
“Hm,” she hums, picking up her chips from the bottom of the machine.
She steps aside as she twists the packet in her hand. “Not really.”
I scoff, punching in the code for some M&M’s and push a few pennies
into the machine. “Really? What more could you possibly want?”
 “Flowers and sweet words are a nice start,” she begins. The packet of
chips opens with a pop as she adds, “Throw in a couple orgasms and I’ll be
good.”
A lump in my throat forms at her words, but I style it out with a
cough. “Oh, so still easy to get?”
She barks out a laugh as I pick up my M&M’s. “You have a lot of faith
in the male species, Branson. You’d be surprised how many boys our age
have no idea what to do with their hands.”
“I play piano,” I blurt out. What the fuck am I doing?
Abort.
Abort.
Abort.
Don’t talk about your hands when she just mentioned how guys can’t
get her off. What are you doing, you fool?
Her eyes connect with mine and my face feels like it’s on fire. She
seems unfazed, as always, and I probably look like a prepubescent teenager
who has never spoken to another girl before in his life.
“I know,” she whispers, almost to herself. Her eyes drop to my hands
which are tight around the poor candy packet as my veins become clearer
on my hands. My breathing quickens as she looks at them and then back to
my face. Before I can question it, she starts to ramble. “I mean, I already
knew. Greyson told me right after New Years. I was planning on using it
against you. Well, that, and I could just tell. I mean, your hands are-”
“Scar!” Kennedy’s voice booms as she appears out of thin air into the
corridor. “They’re fighting again. You’re going to miss it.”
She doesn’t even say anything as she turns away from me and walks
towards Kennedy, leaving me absolutely dumbfounded and dying to know
what she was going to say. When Scarlett reaches her, Kennedy turns back
and she fucking winks at me like this is a huge game.
Rambling is one of Scarlett’s many annoying yet endearing traits, so
I’m not surprised she was talking a lot. She does it all the time in seminars
or lectures or when we get forced to hang out by our friends.
Today was the very first time she has ever rambled like that with me.

OceanofPDF.com
 6
Scarlett

Usually, hanging out with the girls is one of the things that can smooth
out any tense feelings I have, but today it’s not working. I shouldn’t feel so
on edge after one disastrous class with Evan, but I do. We argue all the
time, that much isn’t new. But we argue from afar, over stock prices and
over who is reading the graphs wrong. Now, we actually have to have real
conversations to make this project work. Craving academic validation has
always been my weakness and I don’t think I’ll ever get out of it; this
project is no different.
My mom thought it was just a phase that I’d grow out of, especially
growing up with all brothers. When you grow up with four boys who get
praised for pissing in the toilet bowl or for tying their shoelaces, you need
to work extra hard to be noticed.
You’d think that since I’m the only girl, I’d get special treatment, but
no. Instead, you realise more than ever that you’re not special because your
brothers could do everything that you do, when they were five years
younger.
My mom thought that I just wanted to prove myself in a world where
men dominate, but sometimes I think it’s deeper than that.
I know my worth. I know I’m smart. I know I’m good at what I do.
And I know I don’t need a grade to determine that. But I’ve always had a
strong relationship with numbers, so having it on paper helps. It makes it
feel real. People can only assess your worth on what they see in stats.
 Oh, she’s got a clothing brand that sells thousands per week: perfect.
She has straight A’s and a 4.0 GPA: amazing. She works and studies three
hundred and sixty-five days a year, striving for that perfect A at the top of
her report: fan-fucking-tastic.
My friends think it’s something that I will eventually grow out of when
I finish college. Still, when I close my eyes, I can see myself, ten years from
now, still wanting to pin my report card on the fridge.
Wren, Kennedy, and I have been sitting on the floor in our living room
for the last hour, in our usual spots. Which means Kennedy is sitting in her
bean bag next to the coffee table, Wren’s back is against the sofa with her
laptop in her lap, while I’m on my stomach next to her feet.
We have our own mini book club. Every time Wren writes a new
chapter of her romance novel, “Stolen Kingdom”, she reads it out loud to
us.
She’s become shy with her creative writing, even though she’s been
taking the course for over two years, as well as figure skating. I can tell that
she’s been in a slump since our friend Gigi got signed with one of the top
publishing agencies in the Midwest. We’ve been trying to lift her up, hyping
up every chapter, but I can tell something is wrong.
“Just stop getting in your head about it, Wrenny,” I suggest, resting my
hand on her knee reassuringly so it stops shaking. She nods, pulling her
bottom lip between her teeth.
“I know. I know. I’m trying,” she responds, staring at her laptop screen.
Sometimes I think she’s too hard on herself, always trying too hard, but she
needs to realise how brilliant she is. Even when it’s all we and her boyfriend
tell her, but she can’t get it into her head.
“Try digging deeper,” I press. I know I sound harsh, but this girl is
incredible if she’d realise it. Kennedy throws a hard candy at me, hitting me
right in the back of my head. I flinch, rubbing that spot. “Hey! What was
that for?”
“You’re being mean, Scar. You're going to make her cry,” Kennedy
whispers as if Wren isn’t sitting right there.
I snort. “Come on, Ken. She isn’t going to cry. I’m just being honest,” I
say and Wren nods, smiling at me. I don’t think I’d be able to cope if she
cried right now. Kennedy gets up abruptly, the wrappers she had in the
pouch she created with her shirt dropping to the floor as she does. “Where
are you going?”
She shrieks as she runs down the corridor. “Stress-induced pee break!”
she squeals. Wren and I laugh, knowing her and her bladder problems.
“You don’t think I was being too harsh, do you?” I whisper, poking
Wren in the knee. I’ve known her longer than I have known anyone in my
life, and we’ve always worked like this. We met Kennedy in high school
and since then we’ve been inseparable, but Wren and I have literally been
glued to the hip since we were in diapers. “I’m not trying to sound like a
bitch. I just care about you, and I know how happy writing makes you and I
don’t want you to lose that. You're an incredibly talented writer, Wren.”
She turns to me, tears brimming her eyes. “Thank you, Scar. It’s just a
little hard right now, but I am trying.”
“I know,” I say back, squeezing her hand and she squeezes back. There
is nothing that I want more than my friends' success. Especially Wren’s.
God knows she deserves it.
She nudges my knee. “What’s going on with you? I haven’t seen much
of you since you left that party with that guy. What’s his name? Charlie?”
she quizzes, and I laugh at the change in subject. “He was cute.”
“If you mean his dick size, sure,” I mutter and she nudges me again,
chuckling as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ears.
“Oh. So, small, I assume,” she replies, nodding.
“Tiny.”
She laughs again, shaking her head. “Yikes,” she mutters. “I don’t want
to dick-shame, but if Miles’ dick was smaller than it is, I don’t think we’d
be dating. It just wouldn’t do the job.”
The way this girl has grown in the last year shocks me. She would
hardly ever speak openly about sex like this. Well, because she hadn’t had
much experience before dating Miles, but still, I find it funny.
“I know, right? I mean, not with Miles’s dong, but in general. I just
don’t see how-” I start but I’m interrupted by Kennedy’s loud entrance into
the room, sitting down onto her beanbag.
“Okay, okay. Enough talk about penises. Two updates, go!” Kennedy
says, pointing at the both of us.
We’ve been doing the ‘Two Updates’ game since freshman year where
we have to give two updates on what our life has been like when we haven’t
been able to hang out. Most of the time, I’m out at some event, Kennedy is
in the studio until late and Wren’s at the rink. So, when there’s a time we’re
all together, we have to give updates.
“I’ll go first,” Wren says, shutting her laptop and pushing it onto the
coffee table. “Okay, so I got new skates from my mom as a pity gift for
missing my birthday. Classic Hacks. And I got to use them while I went
skating with Miles and his sister. Boring updates, but I’ve got a boring life
now.”
Wren sulks and we clap, like we always do. “Still great, Wrenny. Still
great,” I say, patting her arm. “My first update is that I got that Buelli
painting I’ve been eyeing for a while. But, I have to work with Evan for our
class project, so that’s fantastic.”
“There it is,” Kennedy whistles, beaming at me. “You can’t get through
an update without mentioning him.”
“I do not,” I retort with a gasp.
“You do,” Wren adds and Kennedy nods. “I still stand by what I said. I
think you need a good fuck to get it out the way. Hate-sex is much better,
according to my readers.”
“The only thing Evan is getting from me is a slap to the face,” I mutter,
rolling my eyes. “Anyway, Kenny, what are your updates?”
She smiles wide, her lined dimples popping out. “You know that project
I was stressing out about? As soon as you guys left, I cracked it and it’s
done. It’s not perfect, but my teacher said it’s probably going to be the best
in the class. Not that it matters, of course, but it felt amazing. And I
alsohadaonenightstand.”
Her last few words blend together, not making sense as she pulls her
hair into her face, a thing that she does when she’s nervous. “Didn’t quite
get the end of that, babe.”
She sighs, blowing her hair out of her face. “I had a one night stand!”
she shouts and mine and Wren’s mouths hang open.
Kennedy does not do casual. Ever. Mostly because she doesn’t date and
gets the ick too easily. If she wants to be in a relationship, she’ll be in one.
She hates the uncertainty of situationships, so her sleeping with someone
randomly is insane.
“Who?” Wren and I gawk at the same time, looking at each other and
then back to Kennedy.
 “I will neither deny nor confirm if it was someone from the hockey
team,” she whispers. Wren’s hand goes to her chest dramatically.
“Kennedy, you wouldn’t,” she mutters and then Kennedy very slightly,
it’s barely noticeable, but she nods, and we both know who it was.
Harry Butler, the guy she’s been on and off with since the start of this
year. They never actually dated, but after a kiss during a game of seven
minutes in heaven, I’m sure they’re not strictly best friends, as much as Ken
likes to hide it.
"We were both sad and emotional and he was there, and I kissed him,
and he felt good and the next thing I knew we were naked," she explains,
doing a poor job at trying to hide her blush.
"Oh, my fucking God, Ken," I whisper.
"I know," she mutters back. "It's terrible. But we're just friends, so it's
never going to happen again."
"Just friends, huh?" Wren mocks. Kennedy tries to nod, showing that
she's telling the truth, but the way her face looks like it's radiating heat is
enough of a giveaway.
Wren tackles her to the ground, pestering her with excited questions
and I’m about to join in, but my phone lights up with a text.

UNKNOWN: Hey, we should meet up soon to start working on the project.

My heartbeat triples in pace. Evan and I never text. If I ever needed to

contact him, I’ve only done it through Miles or if I’m desperate, it’s through
Instagram. I don’t like the thought of him having my number. It feels like
we’re crossing some sort of invisible line. The kind of line that has been put
up for several reasons.

ME: How did you get my number, u weirdo?

EVAN: Miles gave it to me under strict conditions.
ME: Which are….?
EVAN: Not to piss you off because then you’ll tell Wren and Wren will tell Miles and Miles
will tell me and I’ll never hear the end of it.

Huh. I’ll have to give Miles some brownie points for that one. Even
when I was fooling around with his dickwad of a teammate, Jake, Miles
was the only one I could tolerate, which is why I’m glad Wren is dating
him.

ME: And how well is that working out for u so far?

EVAN: You’re still texting me, so I’d say pretty well.

I almost cracked a smile.

Apparently, he’s more bearable over text, which is probably because I
can’t see his smug face and I can have more than five seconds to think of a
reply. Being in his presence makes me nervous and not in a good way. But
texting him feels easy. Easier to insult. Easier to talk to. It’s a win-win.
The girls must have caught onto whatever stupid grin is on my face
because they’ve stopped the interrogation and they’re both staring at me. I
raise my eyebrows at them.
“Who are you texting?” Kennedy asks, leaning over to look at my
phone and I let her have a peek.
“Evan,” I say, grimacing.
“And he’s making you laugh,” Wren mentions, tilting her head to the
side.
“Yeah, at his stupidity,” I retort.
“Riiiight,” the girls say in unison, sounding like Kronk from ‘The
Emperor’s New Groove.’ I get up, interrupting their overanalyses of a stupid
half-smile that doesn’t mean anything.
“I’ve got to go. I need to go see my mom,” I say, brushing off my long
skirt, readjusting my white top.
“If you’re going to meet Evan, you can tell us,” Wren says quietly. “We
don’t hate him as much as you do.”
They don’t have a reason to. When they met him, he was his charming
self that he puts up when they’re around. Opposite to our first interaction.

* * *

I know that every time I walk into my house, my mom is going to be on

some sort of new rant. I don’t know why I get surprised anymore. This
time, she’s going on about how she won’t know what to do if my dad
doesn’t pull through: immediately going to the worst case scenario. My dad
will pull through. He has to.
My parents had the picture-perfect wedding, all five of their kids being
able to attend. I had only just learnt to walk, so I was a little wobbly going
down the aisle in the pictures, but there is no doubt that my parents are so
sickly in love with each other. You’d think that after twenty years of
marriage and thirty-five years of being together, they’d dial it down, but no.
They remind me of a modern day Morticia and Gomez Addams, constantly
all over each other, never being afraid to show off their love to us kids.
That’s why it hits so hard that my dad isn’t here to be the rock for my
mom. She is an independent woman, and she always has been, but there’s a
certain light in her eyes that can only be lit by my dad. She has been with
my dad before Voss got popular and that grounded both of them, knowing
that they always chose each other, no matter what.
As the brand grew from clothing into designer accessories, you start to
realise that the numbers on the spreadsheets you come across in your
parents’ bedroom aren’t just little figures. The dollar sign means power and
not everyone knows what to do with that kind of power.
My dad never lied to us about our competitors, and as a business
student now, I know how important competition is, but I didn’t realise the
dirty truths behind why some companies are so desperate to take the other
down.
“You need to stop worrying, mom,” I say, stopping her pacing as she
stalks around the coffee table in the living room. I guide her into her
favourite plush violet chair, letting her settle in it before taking a seat across
from her. “Gio is going to be there if things fall through. Which they won’t
because dad is the strongest person I know.”
The mention of my uncle soothes her somehow and she nods, tapping
her foot rhythmically. “Can I worry about you instead?”
“Why would you need to worry about me?” I laugh.
"Because you don't have a partner yet,” she says, sounding genuinely
frightened that I won’t ever settle down. I’m twenty, for God’s sake. I do
not need to be settling down. She adds with a pout, “Even Henry has a
girlfriend."
"Yeah, because he's a manwhore," I say through another laugh.
"Don't call your brother a manwhore."
 "It's true," I mutter, and she swats me on the arm. Honestly, I’ve called
Hen a manwhore to his face and he just laughed at me, telling me he’s
going to use that insult in the future and thanked me for my service. My
mom doesn’t seem so happy about it though. Her deep brown brows are
furrowed and she's gnawing at her bottom lip. "I'm fine, mom. I don't need a
relationship right now. Dad's not here and you're doing okay, I think I can
manage."
She sighs deeply. "Yes, because I have years of marriage to fall back
on. Don't you want someone to take care of you? The same way me and
your dad look out for each other. The way he took care of me when I was
going through chemo."
The mentions of my mom’s battle with cancer sends a dagger straight
through my heart. Those two years were probably the worst two years of
my life, watching my mom slowly fade away while I couldn’t do anything
to help. But she pulled through. She always does. And she’s been cancer-
free for almost two years now.
"I don't need someone to look after me, mom. I have you, dad, myself
and four brothers to do that,” I say proudly, holding up my chin.
"Scarlett, my love, we're going in circles here.” I’ve been playing this
game for too long, so I just smile, letting her project all of her worries onto
me if it distracts her from thinking about my dad. For a minute, it distracts
me too.

OceanofPDF.com
 7
Evan

It only took my dad twenty-four-hours to call me asking for an update

on the situation with Scarlett after the game, even though we just started
working together on the project. Well, ‘working together’ is a bit of a
stretch. It’s more of us sitting in silence so we don’t piss the other one off.
My dad has given me nothing to work with, meaning I have to coax
some starting information out of Scarlett when I get the opportunity.
All I know is that her dad, Mateo, has been in the hospital for a few
weeks now in an intense coma, meaning he’s been hooked up to machines
to keep him alive. It’s worrying for both of our businesses since he is the
head of Voss and right before he fell ill, there were a few dodgy articles
about the business and a new drug called Tinzin that had been linked to the
Voss’ clothing and accessories.
It alarmed both of our companies because even though we sometimes
play dirty, drugs and smuggling are something we don't mess around with.
Ever. It’s too much of a coincidence that he suddenly can’t speak on the
matter the second that it starts to gain more popularity in the press.
Scarlett and I are sitting in the school library in one of the collaborative
study sections on a long brown bench. There are not many people in this
section as people prefer the silent study zones. She’s sitting across from me,
her posture scarily straight, her deep brown hair slicked straight down her
back, with one of those black ribbons in her hair tying half of it back. She
always has one of those and I can’t figure out why. Is she secretly a
ballerina or some shit? Because considering her basic outfit choices, the
ribbon that she sports and her posture, I would not have pegged her for a
business student. Obviously, the Prada loafers say otherwise.
We’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable silence for almost half an
hour. I’ve tried to concentrate on the homework I’ve needed to finish up for
most of that time, but I’ve been spending my free seconds glancing up at
her instead. I don’t think she’s looked at me once since we’ve sat down.
“Are you going to read the textbooks or just stare?” she asks, not
looking up from her laptop.
“As much as you think I'm annoying, I think the same about you,” I
say, because two can play that game.
“Awh thanks,” she says, finally looking up at me.
Maybe it was better when she was looking down because now she’s got
one of those fake smiles plastered across her face, those hazel eyes staring
straight at me.
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
“Sure, it wasn’t, big guy,” she replies, looking back down at the laptop.
She huffs, typing angrily. “How long is it going to take you to do your
homework? You always hand it in early.”
“Didn’t know you paid such close attention to me,” I say back, tilting
my head.
“I don’t,” she retorts, looking up again and holding my stare. “I only
know because Anderson doesn’t let me hear the end of it when you hand in
your work before me.”
I always hand my work in early. It takes off the stress of trying to rush
it before the deadline. I’m a mess as it is, I don’t need unnecessary anxiety
about deadlines and grades on top of that.
“I’ve just got a lot going on right now. So, excuse me if it takes me a
little longer to finish my work before starting on the project. I was being
serious when I said my grades have slipped,” I admit, finally finishing the
sheet I’ve been staring at for nearly a week. I shove it away into one of my
textbooks, glad that I don’t have to look at it anymore.
“Oh,” she says, closing her laptop. Unlike the aggressive texting, she
gently closes it, looking up at me. “Is the last assignment why you’re
stressed? Everyone was raging about it, but I finished it last week and it
wasn’t too much trouble. Maybe you’re losing your touch.” She shrugs
innocently, glancing around the room. If I knew any better, I’d think that
was her trying to be nice. She has an annoying tendency to talk too much to
anyone.
But I don’t know any better, so I smile.
Big mistake. Because our eyes connect and when she sees the grin on
my face the faint, barely-even-there sort of smile on her lips fades and she
presses her mouth into a thin line, rolling in her pink lips.
“Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine. It’s just family stuff. You can
understand that, can’t you?” I say and I know I hit a nerve when her body
goes rigid. Her hands freeze for a few seconds before she clears her throat
and continues to write something down. “Oh, come on, Angel. You can
drop the act and stop pretending you don’t know.”
We’ve never openly discussed what has happened with her dad. Not
many people were supposed to know about Tinzingate and if you do, you
clearly have a bias.
My family thinks it was Mateo, using the coma to cover up the
smuggling, while others in the company continue supplying it, hoping that
when he wakes up everyone has forgotten about it. I’m sure her family
don’t think it was him. Especially with the big Papa-Bear energy he gives
off, you wouldn’t suspect him. I’ve seen him squeal like a little kid before,
but if it’s not him, then who could it be?
Scarlett keeps her gaze on her paper, not looking up at me. I almost
miss the way she mutters, “So what if I know? It doesn’t mean anything.”
Good. At least she’s talking. I lean further in, ensuring that there is no
one else nearby. Most of the people in here are zoned out with headphones
on and wouldn’t be disturbed even if the fire alarm went off. “I’m not going
to tell anyone. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
She drops her pencil, folding her arms across her chest against the thin
black top she’s wearing. “I’m not worried about that.” But from the shift in
her body language, there’s something else that she’s not sharing.
“Then what’s your problem?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, sighing as she drops her arms from her chest,
fiddling with the sheet of paper. I know we’ve spent the better half of two
years verbally attacking each other, but I can tell that talking about her
family is a vulnerable thing and I almost feel bad. Almost. “You’re just
going to think I’m crazy.”
I snort. “I already think you're crazy, Angel.”
 “Gee, thanks,” she mutters, adding, “Why am I even talking to you
about this?”
“Scarlett,” I press. The use of her full makes her freeze up. I hardly
ever say it, but from the way that she is about to deflect, I need to draw her
back to the conversation.
Just keep her talking, Evan.
“Listen, I’m only telling you this because none of my friends would
understand and it’s all hypothetical anyway. Just a hunch,” she begins,
pinning me with a defiant stare and I nod. “I don’t think my dad getting
‘sick’ was an accident. I don’t know how I’m going to prove it since I have
no evidence, but I need to find out what happened. It’s probably nothing,
but I can’t let it go.”
She’s confirming what I thought I knew. The Voss’ don’t think it’s an
accident either, but they don’t know if it was self-inflicted or if someone
purposely poisoned him.
“And you have no leads?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “None.” When I don’t say anything, she blinks at
me before her face becomes panicked, her eyes widening. “What? What do
you know?”
“Nothing. I swear,” I say quickly and I’m telling the truth. I’m having
to figure this out alongside her. “But, you know how this looks, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” she says, almost frustrated as she groans. “But it
wasn’t him. I know it wasn't him. He would never try to put our family and
his business at risk.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“What are you getting at, Branson? My dad is a good guy and he’s a lot
nicer than yours. So don't try and act like he isn’t.”
God, she’s so defensive about her family. I love my family too. I’m
protective over them when I feel like it, but, the truth is, we haven't felt like
a family in years.
After my mom left and it became just me and my dad, everything just
felt…. cold. Nothing has felt like the warmth that my mom had. Where
everything just felt okay and I didn’t have the heavy darkness is my chest,
constantly weighing me down.
“I- I wasn't. I was just-” I sigh, shaking my head. With the pointed look
she sends me, that wasn’t going to get me anywhere. “Forget it. We should
start to get to work on this.”
“Yeah. Forget I said anything,” she mumbles, opening her laptop again.
“Great.”
“Good.”
“Perfect.”
“Fan-” She hits the key on her laptop extra hard. “-Tastic.”
Jesus, this woman is going to be the death of me.
We get through an hour of being in each other's presence without
screaming at each other. This is a good start. At least now what I already
thought has been confirmed and I feel a little less on edge. Still, I need
more. We manage to brainstorm a few ideas for the project, disagreeing on
most things, until she calls it a day and I’m grateful to have some alone
time to think of a plan.
Should be easy, right?

OceanofPDF.com
 8
Scarlett

The start of the school year always ends in a series of stupid decisions
for me. It’s something I can’t get rid of. It’s almost like a canon event that
has to happen or else the rest of the year will turn to shit. Well, either way, it
will turn to shit.
At the start of first year, I was the only person in my class to turn up in
a pantsuit, believing it was smart to look my best. Of course, when Branson
wears a suit every day, everybody thinks it's hot, but when I do it, I’m
trying too hard.
Then I realised how easy college boys are. Like, a little too easy. Then I
dated Jake, finding solace in warm bodies instead of being alone.
Then, in our sophomore year Evan and I’s competition went off the
scales. Every lesson turned into an aggressive board meeting and after the
Christmas 2021 Incident, where I revealed that I had sex with someone in
our classroom as part of truth or dare, I don’t think he’s looked me in the
eye since then. And now this year, my dad is in the hospital and I’m stuck
working with Branson for the project, which I’m already anticipating will
be months of torture.
See? Canon events of stupidity.
After spending the last few nights tossing and turning about what could
have happened with my dad, I was relieved when my uncle Gio called me.
I’m hoping that seeing him will give me some peace of mind; he usually
does.
 Growing up, as the business has always been a family thing, I got to see
the different perspective that Gio brought to Voss. While my dad's ideas
were typically old-fashioned and he was stubborn in accepting new ones,
Gio always managed to persuade my dad into new additions whether that be
on the website, promotional advertisements, or the actual clothing.
Unlike many members of the team, Gio actually went to college,
gaining a degree as an economist and in design and technology before
joining Voss. Even though my dad would freak out if he knew, some of the
ideas Gio has pitched have actually come from me too. It’s not that my dad
doesn’t think I’m smart enough or capable to get involved, he just wants to
keep me safe and there are lots of risks with joining a multi-million dollar
business like ours. So, I keep my designs and plans to myself, waiting for
the opportunity after I graduate to finally show my dad what I’m worth.
Gio and I have always been close. While the boys and my dad had a
strong relationship, I gravitated more towards Gio. He always listened to
me and took the time to get to know me. He understands what it’s like to be
the youngest sibling in a family full of entrepreneurs and surrounded by
insane amounts of money. We got even closer when his wife, Sara and their
good friend Lucas died in a plane accident, which inevitably led to bad
press for Voss with rumours speculating that Lucas and Sara were having an
affair.
After losing Sara three years ago, Gio submerged himself into working
closer with the business and brought about new changes in honour of his
late wife. It’s been a tough journey for all of us, but that’s why I need to go
and see him today. We’ve not spoken much about what has happened with
my dad, but after talking to Evan, finally vocalising my fears out loud, I
realise that I’m ready to dive into this. Whatever this is.
I walk up to Gio’s front door, taking in the surroundings of his secluded
modern home in the mountains. He moved out here after Sara’s passing and
the piece of land he has for himself here is gorgeous. The house gives off a
natural, woodsy vibe and a gallery-like aesthetic on the inside, unable to tell
if it looks straight out of a horror film or a cute family vacation home.
I knock twice and it takes all but five seconds for Gio to pull me inside,
dead bolting the door behind me. He’s only a few inches taller than me, still
a lot shorter than my dad. His face is rough around the edges, his olive skin
a little paler, as the trees around this house hardly let any sun in. He’s been
growing out a rugged beard over the last few weeks and he resembles
Bruno from the movie ‘Encanto’ with his shoulder length dark brown curly
hair.
“Jeez,” I mutter when he spins me around, walking us over to his huge
kitchen. “Someone is in a rush today.”
He basically pushes me into the high, white glossy stool that rests next
to his breakfast bar, and I hoist myself up onto it as he rounds the island,
closing the blinds on the kitchen window.
It’s only then that I realise that his house is practically in darkness.
Where the light usually shines from the floor to ceiling windows, it’s
blocked out by thick black curtains. I notice the record player in the corner
of the open living room which usually plays 50’s and 60’s Italian music is
cut off, records lining up behind it. Just looking at the lifelessness in here
makes me shiver.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Gio tenses, turning around from the blinds
and leaning down on the breakfast table, pulling up his long sleeved shirt to
display his sleeve of tattoos, most of them that match with my dad and
Lucas.
“Did they follow you up here?” he asks.
“Who?”
“The press. They’ve been hot on my heels for weeks,” he murmurs,
pulling up two glasses from the cabinet beneath the island. “Want a drink?”
He reaches for a bottle of whiskey, pouring some into one glass. “Just
juice, please.” He nods, opening the fridge to pull out my favourite tropical
juice. “What’s going on, G?”
Gio sighs again and it sounds a little shaky this time as he pours the
juice into my glass, pushing it towards me. “I don’t know. I’ve just had the
feeling I’m being watched all week. I took the plane to LAX on Monday
and when I landed, there were reporters everywhere, bugging me with
questions.”
There are always reporters when it comes to my dad and Gio, so I’m
not surprised. Especially in California, since that is where HQ is. I’ve lived
in Salt Lake my whole life, but the boys had to live in LA for a few years
before I was born. My mom says we moved to get away from the busy and
non-private lifestyle. Still, there is an odd reporter here or there when we go
out as a family here.
 It’s definitely better here, it’s quieter and I get recognised less. But
when I join them on business trips to LA, it’s hell. They like the drama
there way more than they do here. There are a million different things to do
and a million different scandals to get caught up in. But when I’m here, I
feel safer.
“What were they asking? Was it about dad?” I quiz, taking a sip of my
drink, loving the familiar taste.
“Yes,” he confirms, pausing as he glances back to the closed blinds and
then back at me. “Scarlett, tesoro, I don’t know what to tell you.” He takes
in a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Something doesn’t feel
right. It hasn’t felt right for a long time.”
My whole body goes rigid. The more I hear my family addressing it out
loud, it makes it seem more real. As if this isn’t something I’ve just made
up in my head but a real, possibly life-threatening thing that is going to
affect us.
“Do you mean about the whole thing with Tinzin?” I ask, whispering
the last word as if we’re talking about Voldemort. “Because we don’t
actually know anything about it, do we? It’s all speculation. A coincidence
that it somehow traced back to Voss, right?”
He shakes his head, not in a way of disagreeing, but almost in a way to
shake his head of the thought. As if there is something I’m completely
missing. “It’s probably nothing, amore,” he says. If it’s stressing him out
this much, it can’t be nothing.
“G, you can tell me. I’m not like Arthur. I’m not going to narc. I just
want to understand the situation better. You know how it feels to be out of
the loop,” I say, playing the youngest sibling card that gets him every time.
I watch as his features soften, his jaw unclenching as he leans against the
sink, arms dropped to his sides.
“Like I said, it’s probably nothing,” he says, trying to downplay it again
and I raise my eyebrow, urging him to continue. “When I was at HQ, I
heard a few of the shipping managers discussing the next import for
solitaire diamond pendants and where they were getting it from just didn’t
seem right to me. We always, and I mean, always, use imports from Canada
or Botswana that are ethically sourced. We never get local imports. As
much as it would be better for the small businesses, we don’t do that with
the diamonds. It’s just not the way things are done.”
 I blink at him, trying to make sense of it. “So, these shipping managers
were thinking of getting it from somewhere else?” He nods. “Why is this a
problem? Aren't they just changing it up a little? It would be better for the
small businesses, no?”
“I have never seen those shipping managers before in my life, Scarlett,”
he explains, and it sounds like a punch to the stomach. This is not good at
all. God, I think I’m going to be sick. “When I asked them who signed them
on, they said it was from Mateo. I checked the records, and they were right.
They were signed the day before he went into the hospital.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “What do you think they were doing? I mean,
isn't it always better to have the best product for us to sell?”
“Yes, of course. That’s what worried me. They said Mateo gave them
the orders, but he and I never spoke about it. It’s making me wonder if I
was spaced out during the meetings. If maybe I was in on this too and I’ve
just forgotten. The store name sounded too familiar for me to have never
heard of it before,” he explains.
“Which store?”
“‘Julia’s’ in Provo. Almost an hour from here,” he says before shaking
his head again, looking at the ground. “Like I said, Scarlett, it’s all
speculation. You know how hard it’s been for me. I wouldn’t be insulted if
you thought I was going a little bit crazy. Maybe this was the plan for this
rota, and I just missed out.”
“I don’t think you're going crazy, G,” I say quickly. “You’re the furthest
away from that. I believe you.”
He looks up at me, a small smile on his lips. “Don’t tell your brothers
about this yet, okay? I need to figure out a few things before I talk to your
mom too,” he warns, and I nod. I would never tell them anything. Henry,
maybe. But Arthur has been an uptight prick since Alex left and Leo’s too
high to care. “We’re going to figure out what happened to your dad,
Scarlett. I promise you.”
“I know,” I say, and I believe him because one way or another, I’m
going to figure it out. I have to. I need to. I’ve been second best to everyone
my whole life, if I can figure this out, they’ll finally see how special I am.

* * *
 When I walk out of Gio’s house a few hours later, taking the long route
down to my black Lamborghini Urus, I pull out my phone, texting the
group chat with the girls in it. They don’t know much about what is going
on with my family, other than my suspicions with my dad’s hospitalisation.
I’m sure they’ve picked up on the true crime documentaries I’ve been
watching recently too.
Maybe that’s why I swear I hear a branch snap from a nearby tree. My
brain tells me that someone is here, lurking somewhere. Watching. But my
heart tells me that isn’t true. If I can tell myself over and over that it will be
fine, I’ll start to believe it. I know I will. I take a quick look around and it’s
all woods. No one is coming for me. I’m safe.
I glance back down at my phone.

STARBUCKS LOVERS

ME: OMG. Guys. I feel like I’m in an episode of HTGAWM!!

KEN: Who did you kill?
ME: No one. Jesus, Ken. Just LOTS of family drama. Wanna come investigate?
KEN: Can’t. Shelbia has us under a ball and chain.
ME: Boooo. What about Wrenny?
KEN: Dunno. Check her location.

When I’m strapped into my car, driving the twenty minute drive from
Gio’s house to our apartment near campus, I hook my phone up to the
speaker, double checking Wren’s location. She’s at home, which means I’ll
be able to coax her into coming with me to stakeout the store. I know Gio
didn’t tell me to go, but he also didn’t tell me not to go so…I’m going to
go.
Wren answers on the fifth ring.
“Wren!” I basically squeal when the call connects, stopping at the stop
sign. “Oh my god, you're not going to believe this.”
“What is it?” she asks. She's breathing really fast and hard, like she
sprinted up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Weird. But I’m too
excited, so I continue.
“You know when I was saying that I hoped the stuff with my dad could
turn into a real mystery? Well, I think it just has,” I say, my voice an octave
higher than usual.
“Oh,” she says. Strange. She takes in another deep breath. “That’s-
That’s really great, Scar."
This time I don’t jump at the chance to speak and that's when I hear it.
The rhythmic sound of squeaking followed by the sound of thumping like
something is banging against a hard surface. No way…
No.
Way.
“Wren, darling?” I ask sweetly, smirking when I get a sharp inhale as a
response.
“Mm hm?"
“Are you having sex right now?”
“No,” she cries, and it sounds awfully similar to a moan. She's panting
harder now. “Of course, I’m not…Fuck, Mi-"
Anddd, that's my que.
I end the call, shuddering. Unfortunately, that is not the first time this
has happened. She’ll deny it every time, but I’m not that stupid.
I’m happy though; she's really grown into herself this past year and I
love to see it. I'm still smiling when I pull into my parking space outside the
apartment, hoping that they've finished so I can grab my friend and take her
on this adventure.
My smile drops when I get to my apartment door. Not only can I
still hear the bed hitting the wall, but Evan is also standing outside my door.
He’s dressed in his usual attire; black dress pants, a crisp white shirt
and a black tie hanging lazily from his neck. It’s never actually tied and it
pisses me off every time. If you’re going to wear a tie, tie it. I can’t tell if he
enjoys dressing like he goes to a private prep school or if this is his only
choice in outfit. Either way, it’s ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as him
standing outside the door, ankles crossed, and his hands shoved into his
pockets.
He’s been here a few times since our Friendsmas meal that he was
invited to by proxy and countless game nights that bring out the worst in us.
He’s not said anything since I appeared in front of him, just staring
because apparently that’s his thing now. Great.
I cross my arms against my chest, raising an eyebrow at him.
 “What are you doing, you perv?” I ask, nodding to my apartment door,
which is basically shaking at this point. I swear, they are absolute animals.
“What?” he gasps, blinking at me. Then the realisation dawns on him as
he sighs. “Oh. ‘Cause they’re…Yeah. It’s worse at my house. Try sharing a
wall with Miles’ room and you learn to tune them out.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask again.
“Waiting for you, obviously,” he says and my chest pinches. I hate
feeling so nervous around him. He has no reason to make me feel like he
can see just straight through me. Like every thought in my brain is just on
display for him to have a pick at.
“Why?”
He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “For the project…Why else
would I be here?”
I tilt my head. “Oh, so you’re not here to listen to our friends have sex?
I totally misread the situation,” I say in a mocking tone, loving the way his
eyebrows pinch together.
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger,
sighing. “Miles is hardly my friend,” is his pathetic excuse.
I snort because I can imagine the argument they would get into if Miles
could hear him right now.
Miles Davis is friends with everybody. He’s been living with Evan for
almost three years, I’m sure he would be insulted if he heard this
blasphemy.
“I saw the pictures he posted from Wren’s birthday. And in case you’re
forgetting, I was there too. So, the memory is forever etched into my brain.”
Then, making my voice sound extra sweet, I add, “The matching outfits
were cute.”
It was Wren’s 20th birthday in June, and we all had to come in
matching outfits. Wren, Kennedy, and I came as the Chippettes while Evan,
Miles and Grey went as Alvin and the Chipmunks. I almost peed myself
laughing at Evan in a blue shirt, glasses and freckles scattered across his
nose.
“It was Miles’s idea, not mine,” he mumbles.
“And yet, you let him,” I retort. He’s got to drop this grump act. His
roommates can be annoying, but I know he loves them deep down. I shift
my weight from one foot to the other, not sure what to say now the small
talk has died down.
When I look up, his eyes are still on me, and I can’t stop the words that
come out of my mouth. It’s either this or interrupting my best friend doing it
with her boyfriend.
“Wanna help me with this mystery?”
His eyes practically light up. Well, I think so. I’m still undecided if his
eyes are blue or green. Still, his features smooth out a little as his eyes
widen. “You got a lead?”
I shrug. “Sort of. Let’s go.”

OceanofPDF.com
 9
Evan

When I turned up outside of Scarlett’s apartment, I wasn’t going there

to work on the project. I actually don’t know why I was there.
I asked Charles to take me for a ride around the city to clear my head
and it was either going there or going to my dad’s house. As soon as I
remembered that Miles was there, I realised that I’d be better off waiting
outside. Still, I don’t know why I was shocked that she turned up as if she
doesn’t live there. I definitely wasn’t expecting her to have a lead.
Well, from what she explained and her uncle Gio’s explanation, it could
be nothing. They think that something is going on with the imports of
diamonds from a local dealer which is not what they have been doing for
years.
Just finding out that alone is more than I need to know. It feels dirty
knowing these things as a Branson. We never trade secrets like these, but I
can tell that she needs help in some way and I’m going to give it to her. I
knew I hit a nerve asking her about it during our study session, but it seems
to have broken down a piece of a wall that she’s had up for years.
Obviously, because she’s a Voss, she has the coolest fucking car. I’m a
guy. I can admit when a car looks good, even if the person driving it drives
me insane.
She has a black Lamborghini Urus with red stitched seats. Red, I
thought, like her name. It’s beautiful. It has been on my car wishlist for a
few years, but I didn’t want to invest in one since I don’t drive as often as I
should, and my Range Rover is collecting dust in the garage.
 I know I wanted to admire it, but since she explained the situation on
the elevator ride down and since we got into the car, she’s not said a word.
She’s been staring out at the parking lot and I’m pretty sure she’s spaced
out.
“Are you going to drive or what?” I press, looking at her and then the
empty parking lot.
“I don’t know yet,” she whispers.
I sigh, unbuttoning another button on my shirt. Why do I suddenly feel
nervous? I take another deep breath. “What do you mean you don't know?
You know where we're going, don't you?
“Yes, I'm not an idiot,” she murmurs, looking at me now, those brown
eyes piercing me with a look so fierce it could cut glass.
“Okay…? Then what's the problem?” I ask again, looking out into the
near darkness. It’s getting close to 8PM. “I don't want to get there when it's
too late.”
She turns away from me, facing the steering wheel while she shakes out
her hands as if she’s about to run a marathon, twisting her neck to the side.
“I don't know,” she groans as if it’s my fault. “I’m too excited or nervous.
Or both. I can't sit still.”
God, does she want to find out what happened or what?
“Then get out,” I demand. She turns back to me, eyes wide.
“What?”
"Let me drive. Move seats," I explain. If she’s not going to get us to
where we need to be, I’m going to have to be the one to do it. Trying to
contact Charles is not an option. You try hiding an Escalade outside a
random shop in Provo and see if you don’t get caught.
She throws her hair over her shoulder. “Branson, I hope you take this
the wrong way, but I've never seen you control a vehicle a day in my life.
You're always being chauffeured around everywhere like some sort of
fucking prince. What makes you think I’m going to let you drive my car?”
I huff. “Why are you making this difficult?”
“Because I don't trust you to drive my car. Do you know how much this
thing costs?" she says, gesturing to the gorgeous car.
I roll my eyes. “I have a licence and I have never had a ticket or any
type of violation in my life. If you're not going to drive, let me do it. We’re
wasting time. If I crash it – which I won’t – I’ll just buy you a new one. You
know I can afford at least three of these.”
She considers it for a second, pulling her full bottom lip between her
teeth. “Fine,” she says finally, unbuckling her seatbelt. “But be kind to
Bellezza Nera.”
I don’t know why her Italian catches me off guard. It shouldn't.
Especially when I’ve heard her speak it a million times, but here, in this
dark and confined setting of this car, the way she rolls the ‘r’ almost makes
it sound filthy.
Jesus.
If I’m getting turned on by Scarlett Voss speaking Italian, I really need
to get laid.
She lets me take over her seat, switching around to the other side,
settling in the passenger seat, one leg hanging down and the other pulled up
to her chin. How in the world is she comfortable like that? I flick my
attention from her and to the road, following the instructions that the GPS
has set up.
Unlike most people I know, Scarlett doesn’t change the music ten times
before settling on one song. She knows exactly what she wants and settles
on a playlist and the first song that plays is ‘Sweet Disposition’ by The
Temper Trap. It’s not a bad song, but it could have been better. The only
upside to this is that she’s relaxed more now, and she doesn’t look like she’s
about to bolt out of the door or stare into space.
We drive mostly in silence as the playlist continues to play more songs,
similar to the one that played first.
When we get to the street in Provo, as I imagined, it’s mostly deserted.
It’s never extremely busy here, but there is the odd person wandering
around as all the buzz lies within the bar at the corner. It’s lively down
there, loud cheers and music playing, but from where we need to be, the
lights on the stores are the only thing keeping it lit. There’s a laundromat, a
record shop, then the jewellery store, Julia’s, wedged between an antique
store and a convenience store.
We park in a side alley, giving us a side view into the shop because of
the way the streets have been designed. It would be too obvious if we
parked on the main road, so this is our best shot. The store looks normal
from here, a typical white, sterile looking place with a silver sign. It must be
close to closing time now because there’s only one person behind the till,
sitting on their phone.
“Are we going to go in?” I ask Scarlett as she stares out of her window
at the shop.
“No,” she replies, her voice quiet.
“So, now what do we do?”
“We wait, obviously.”
Wait for what? I don’t know, but I’m terrified to ask any questions
because she’ll either get angry at me or start to freak out again and I can’t
deal with either of those things right now.
She’s still staring out the window and I’m still staring at her, and I can’t
fucking move my eyes.
Okay, I have a problem.
Not like that.
Sometimes, when I get too in my head, (which is often) I stare. Not
because something is particularly fascinating or drawing my attention. I just
need something to focus on so my brain can just shut up for two minutes.
Most of the time I’m aware I’m staring, and I probably look insane and
even when I tell my eyes to move I just… Can’t.
My therapist calls it ‘compulsive staring’ as part of my OCD diagnosis,
but I hate the label and I just let people comment on it the way they want.
There is no use trying to explain it to people who wouldn’t understand.
But this time feels different. Most times I space out and I don’t actually
know what I’m staring at, but this time I do.
It’s her and only her.
It’s her long dark brown, slightly curly hair and that fucking ribbon that
she always wears. It ties up half of her hair in a cute bow and it makes her
whole look seem innocent. It drives me crazy every time I look at it because
it draws people into this false innocence. But she is the furthest thing from
that. She’s lethal and dangerous and-
“Any theories?” she asks, still looking out the window. I shake my
head, averting my eyes to the steering wheel in front of me. Could she sense
my eyes on her? God, I hope not. I clear my throat.
“What?” I croak out.
“What do you think is going to happen? I can’t sit here in silence,
Branson,” she explains. I don’t know how long I was spaced out for, but
I’m surprised she didn’t fill that with her talking. She talks a lot. A lot of it
is nonsense. But it’s a lot.
“I never said you had to,” I whisper, picking at the cuffs on my shirt.
“Well, it didn’t look like you were starting a conversation anytime
soon,” she murmurs with that sarcastic undertone that makes me want to
shake her shoulders.
“Do you always give this much attitude?”
“Do you always say the most stupid things?” She turns to me now,
raising an eyebrow. I narrow my eyes at her, not sure what to say and she
backs down with a smirk, turning back to face the store. “Just tell me a
theory.”
I sigh, trying to think of something. It’s what I should have been
thinking about instead of her. I say the most basic, typical thing that comes
to mind. “I think whoever is in there is someone in Voss and is probably
connected to Tinzingate in one way or another.”
She blows a raspberry. “Boring,” she says, dragging out the syllables.
“Next.”
I groan, scratching at the back of my neck as I try and think of
something more substantial. “Okay. I think that whoever we were supposed
to be looking out for has been using the change in strategy for the diamonds
as a coverup, steering you away from where the real source is; the source
that leads you to finding out who started the rumours with Tinzin and Voss.”
“Ooh, that’s not bad,” she says, turning to me and she actually smiles.
Not at me, but at the idea. And it’s sort of…endearing? I don’t know. But
the way her face lights up does something to me.
“Are you a true crime junkie or something?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. Only about this. I'm getting more of an
adrenaline rush from being here than I could from a documentary.”
“Why do you care so much? Aren't you supposed to want to rebel or
some shit if you're not even a part of the company?”
I finally say what I’ve been thinking all day. About what this means to
her. Why is she so set on finding out what happened when no one else is?
Most of the press has made up their minds, not digging into what has
happened, waiting for her dad to recover. Meanwhile, my dad thinks it's our
place to find out what happened to expose them.
 “I don't have to be a part of the company to care about my dad,” she
argues. Fair. But I want to know more. There is more than that. Especially
because she’s letting me help her. She must be desperate.
“Come on. What are you trying to prove, Angel? This seems like more
than just trying to help a situation that doesn’t need you meddling with it,” I
say, shifting in my seat to get more comfortable, leaning in closer to her.
She glances out the window hesitantly and when she catches no more
movement from the store she turns back to me.
“Not like I need to tell you any of this, but I’m hungry and I’m tired
and I don’t know what I’m saying,” she begins.
“Strong start if you want me to listen to you,” I mutter, and she pins me
with a look. The look. The one that my dad gives me when I’m being a little
shit. The one that when she gives it, it’s extra fucking terrifying. I wave my
hand between us, adding, “Continue.”
“You know that my mom was sick for a really long time, right? Well, of
course you did. Everyone knew. Because we couldn’t get a moment of
fucking privacy, even when we switched to private care, we were still
followed everywhere,” she explains. I don’t say anything, not wanting to
break whatever has led her to open up to me. “I was useless. Absolutely
fucking useless. I was scared and all I could do was stand and watch. I
couldn’t help the company because I didn’t have enough experience. I
couldn’t succeed in school because of the pandemic, so none of it even
mattered. I couldn’t help my mom and she was literally dying right in front
of me. Do you know what that feels like, Branson? To watch someone you
love almost disappear right before your eyes?” I shake my head, almost
frozen to the spot. I do know what that’s like, just not in the way she means.
“She managed to pull through, luckily. And now we’re going through it
again, but this time, I can have a handle on it. I’m going to find out what
happened, and my dad is going to be fine.”
She ends her last sentence almost with a growl, as if she’s trying to
convince herself that that is what is going to happen. I swear the more I
speak to this girl, the more I learn about her and how fucking wrong I’ve
been. She has layers. Tons of them.
“That’s…A lot,” is all that my stupid brain can come up with to say.
She blinks at me for a second, slightly shaking her head at me in disbelief
before dropping my gaze and turning back to the window.
 “Gee, thanks for that analysis,” she mutters. “Like I said, I’m hungry
and tired, so don’t let me telling you that go to your head.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I argue. I totally was.
“Right,” she says sarcastically. She leans off from the window, resting
her head against the headrest with a sigh, giving me the prettiest fucking
view of her throat. No. We’re not going there. “Do you know how long this
is going to take?”
“You’re asking me?” I say. “You’re the one with the lead that got us
here.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think we’d actually just be sitting here,” she retorts,
her eyes still closed. I watch as the guy inside the shop finally slips his
phone into his pocket, turning off the back light as he walks towards the
door. “I’m just going to come back on my own tomorrow.”
That’s a terrible idea. There is no way she’s going back here alone. It’s
a fine enough place, but everywhere becomes sketchy at night. The guy
from the shop stands outside the door now, hands in his pockets as he looks
around. I slouch down further, trying to hide myself from view.
“Don’t you think that-”
“Stop talking,” I mutter, watching as another dark figure appears,
walking towards the Cell Phone Guy. They nod at each other, their mouths
barely moving, and my heartbeat picks up.
“Okay, that’s a bit rude,” she replies. “I was just going to-”
“Scarlett. Stop. Talking,” I bite out and she opens her eyes, ready to rip
me a new one. She sees that I’ve lowered my gaze from just above the
steering wheel and her eyes widen as she looks between me and the two
figures.
“Oh shit,” she murmurs.
“Yeah, oh shit.”
She leans down closer to where I’m looking since I have the better
view. She’s too close to me now and I hate it. I can smell her Chanel No. 5
and the coconut scent of whatever she uses in her hair as some strands
tickle my forearm.
“Why are you so close to me?” she groans as if she isn’t the one that
came to my side of the car. She tried to reposition herself, but her elbow
ended up wedged into the inside crease of mine.
 I nudge her with my arm, but she doesn’t budge. “Why are you so close
to me?”
She ignores me, huffing, “Can you just move your arm?”
“I would, but your elbow is right in my-”
“Jesus, Branson. Just move your-” She pushes me again and she’s
practically wedged between me and the steering wheel.
“Scarlett, for the love of god-”
“I can't see anything when you’re in the way!”
There’s a moment of brief - and I mean, brief - silence before the
loudest sound I’ve ever heard starts to blare out.
Beeeep. Beeeep. Beeeep.
The fucking car alarm goes off and we duck our heads down, hoping
that will shield us from the attention we’ve just drawn to ourselves. Could
tonight get any worse? We’ve been going in circles, Scarlett’s mood shifting
like the weather, and now we’ve completely blown our cover.
I glance over to her, and her shoulders are shaking, her head tucked
beneath her hands in a protective embrace. Is she crying? I really hope she’s
not crying. I’m fully convinced that it is only me who ends up in these
kinds of situations.
When the car stops beeping, I look up to the store slowly, groaning
when I see the lights are completely off and the two guys that were standing
out there have gone. Fucking great.
“They’re gone,” I say, nudging Scarlett beside me and she lifts her head
up.
She turns to me and our gaze locks. My lips part in exasperation.
Honestly, I thought my life was about to be over just then. She blinks back
at me, staring, her eyes wide and her cheeks a deep red.
Then the strangest thing happens.
She laughs.
Her face basically cracks open like the sun bursting through the blinds,
her white teeth fully showing as she throws her head back, tears springing
to her eyes as she clutches her chest. Her laugh is a high wheeze that I’ve
never heard before. She only ever snorts or scoffs at me. This is her real
laugh. It takes about two seconds of her contagious laugh before I start to
join in with a low chuckle, shaking my head as I scramble to drive us away.
OceanofPDF.com
 10
Scarlett

Holy shit.
Watching Evan Branson almost shit himself was single-handedly the
highlight of my year. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much terror in those –
yes, I confirmed it – green eyes.
The whole thing was too funny for me not to laugh. I have a habit of
laughing in uncomfortable situations and that just happened to be one of
those.
At first, I thought I insulted him before he started laughing too. It was
low and barely noticeable, but it strangely felt good to laugh. With him. It
lasted all of thirty seconds before he drove us out of there and dropped me
off home while he walked back to his.
I’m more confused today than I was two nights ago. One minute I'm
feeling like I'm being haunted by something in Gio’s yard, the next I’m
outside a sketchy jewellery shop, with Evan of all people.
I didn’t tell him this because I'm still not sure how much I trust him yet:
academic rival and all. But I'm sure I recognised the guy who was inside the
store. I don’t know what it was, but his posture was so familiar.
I know that’s a weird thing to say, but that’s the way I’ve always
understood people. Wren almost always sits with her legs crossed, arms
across her chest. Kennedy always womanspreads. My mom has naturally
‘perfect’ posture like me. But this guy was as straight as a door. He was
standing with his phone in hand, his neck not seeming like a single kink
was in it as he typed away. What was he doing, typing for so long? None of
it made sense.
 As I stared out that window, I tried to make sense of it all. I tried to let
myself come up with some sort of theory, making myself believe that the
change in shipments must be linked to Tinzin somehow and my dad
unknowingly signed off on it.
It didn't help that I could feel Evan's eyes on the back of my head. It
drives me insane not knowing what he’s thinking, that’s why I started the
conversation. He makes me uneasy when he’s not talking so I filled the
space with useless conversation. I'd rather speak nonsense than not speak at
all. I’ve been like that my whole life, no matter who I'm with.
Well, it’s different with my dad, sitting here in this sterile room in a
private hospital in Denver. I hate that he has to be so far from us, but this is
the best hospital we can get and it’s only an hour and a half flight from Salt
Lake. We’ve tried to make this room homey for him, pinning up pictures of
us, hanging an Italian flag above the bed, a small bedside table with
rosemary’s and prayer booklets my mom left but that doesn’t change the
fact that there’s still the hiss coming from the heater, the rhythmic beeping
of the machines and the gentle droplets of water coming from the dispenser
in the corner of the room.
Even though I'm not supposed to, I've spent a few nights here, curled up
with a blanket in the chair next to my dad’s bed. Most times I don't even
speak. I don't go on my phone. I don't read my book. I just think.
And it’s fucking terrifying. Being in your head all the time, feeling so
utterly lonely whilst still feeling claustrophobic is the worst and most
painful thing to experience. One minute I’m thinking about what I’m going
to have for dinner, the next I’m thinking about oblivion. Even when I try to
get the words to stop, they just keep coming, gushing towards me and I
can’t escape it.
I spent the better half of the morning trying to piece together moments
from the night outside of the store before I ended up going in circles. Then I
finally got my ass out of my room, called Arthur to make sure the jet was
ready, and I got here.
I wish there was more to say to my dad. I alternate between apologising
and thanking him. I mean, that’s what you say to someone who gives you
their everything and you can’t do anything when they need someone the
most. Just like I was when mom was sick.
 A small part of me regrets opening up that part of me to Branson, but it
needed to be out there. If he’s going to be around more than usual, the least
I can do is break a small barrier between us. If anyone is going to get what
being in my situation is like, it has to be Evan, as annoying as that is to
admit. There’s only so far that the girls can comfort me when they don’t
fully understand what it’s like to be in my position.
Surprisingly, Evan is a good listener. He didn’t judge me or try to
diminish my feelings like I thought he would. I can’t tell if that should be a
quality I like or should be afraid of.
“Who did this to you?” I whisper, tapping my knee. I know I won’t to
get a response, but it feels better to say my worries aloud. All there is in
response is the rhythmic beep of the machine. “I’m trying, dad. I’m really
trying. I don’t want you to think for a second that I’ve left you like
everyone else has.”
I wait a few seconds. I don’t know what for. He’s only had two muscle
spasms causing his finger to twitch, so I’m not expecting anything.
“Nothing is making sense to me. Why would you sign off on new
imports when it doesn’t fit the status quo? And mom’s dream that you
might have been forced into doing it…” I whisper, hoping that speaking it
aloud will help me piece it together somehow. “That guy at the store was so
familiar. I’ve seen him before. I must have. I’m going to figure this out,
dad. One way or another, I’ll find out what happened to you. I’m not going
to sit back and watch anymore. I can’t do that to you.”
I’m startled by the knock at the door, turning to realise it's my dad’s
nurse Sylvie, an older woman with pink hair. When I nod at her, sitting up
straighter in the couch, she opens the door, wheeling in a cart of my dad’s
food and other necessities.
I greet her and she updates me on how my dad is doing, telling me he’s
responding well to the medication. When she straps on her gloves and gets
ready to feed him, I stand up and say goodbye. I don’t like to stay for this
part, and I know my dad would not want me to see him like this; so helpless
and in need of help to feed himself. I give her my best smile before slipping
out the door and catching an Uber to get the runway to get back home.

* * *
 “That boy was looking for you again,” Kennedy shouts from the
kitchen.
There is nothing I love more than an out-of-context conversation starter
from Kennedy. I’ve been home for almost an hour after finishing up my
homework at the library. The second I got in, I showered off the smell of
hospital and school, snuggled into my favourite silk pyjamas and spread
myself out on the comfortable white rug in the living room in front of the
TV. Wren has a late practice today, so it’s just me and Ken and we’re about
to watch a new episode of Love Island. That was until she ran into the
kitchen to get us a refill of snacks.
I try to think of an answer to her weird statement. The only person I can
think of is Charlie who I hooked up with a few weeks ago. Or maybe it was
the guy from the night before the lecture on marketing strategies? I don’t
know. I’ve had a ton of messages from Charlie since then, which I’ve been
ignoring. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned up here.
“What boy? If it was Charlie, I swear I’m going to-”
She cuts me off with her sing-song voice saying, “It was Eh-van.”
“Oh.”
I’ve been slightly avoiding him since the stakeout. It feels like we’re
slipping into unknown territory, and I don’t know how to act around him.
One second we hate each other, the next we’re staking out a potential
murderer. I blew off our plans to study today so I could see my dad and he
seemed fine with it.
Kennedy comes into the living room now, dressed in a set matching
mine, except hers is in a dark blue opposed to my red. She flops down next
to me lying on her stomach, her head in her hands as I lie on my back.
“What does ‘oh’ mean?” she asks curiously, tilting her head.
“It means I’m surprised that weasel is coming near our home when he
doesn’t need to,” I say, snorting. “I’m going to have to put some pest spray
outside the door to keep him at bay.”
Kennedy laughs and the sound is one of my favourites in the world.
Unlike my wheezy laugh, she has the most child-like giggles ever. I don’t
think she’ll ever grow out of it, and I love it. It’s also extremely contagious.
“You’re so dramatic,” she concedes when her laughter dies down.
 “Dramatically necessary,” I correct, pinning her with a look before
looking back at the ceiling. “Plus, you and Wren hardly like him, so don’t
act like it’s just me.”
“He’s…fine,” she says through a sigh. I turn to her again, raising my
eyebrow, silently urging her to go on. “He’s nice, okay? Like, really nice.
And I know that you hate him because of your family feuds, and I respect
that. You know, ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is Shakespeare's greatest play, but he’s
nice to me.”
I snort at her rambling. “I’m happy for you, Ken, truly. You’re just
lucky you don’t have to put up with his dipshittery every day at school.”
She sulks, pouting. “I think you’re refusing to remember that day he
brought us home from the bar.”
There is no way I’d be able to forget that day, no matter how drunk I
was.
Wren had just found out some shitty news from her sister who had just
told her she was pregnant, and we all went to a lowkey bar that didn’t check
our IDs. Before we knew it, we were drunk-singing Taylor Swift songs on
the karaoke machine. Wren called Miles to pick us up and Evan was already
out with him, so they both helped us up to our apartment. It’s the bare
minimum, but unfortunately, Kennedy’s standards aren’t the highest.
I distinctly remember frantically telling him not to dye his hair brown,
no matter how much I loathe the fact that he’s blonde. He didn’t even seem
to care. He told me that he’d basically do anything I asked him to and that
confused the fuck out of me.
“Yeah, because he was there by proxy. If Wren hadn’t called Miles, he
wouldn’t have been there,” I explain, trying to justify it. She makes an
exaggerated sigh, looking away wistfully. “What are you trying to get at,
Ken?”
“He just seemed sad that you weren’t here, that’s all,” she says. I really
try to conjure up a picture of a sad or lost Evan and I come up with nothing.
“Evan Branson does not do ‘sad.’ He does a douche-bro face, stressed,
and pissed. That’s it,” I say, almost laughing at the idea.
She shakes her head. “He also does a dreamy ‘I-miss-Scarlett’ face
too,” she adds, grinning like an evil genius.
“Really? You better take a picture next time,” I mutter, hoping that’s the
end of the conversation about him. I get up, going into the kitchen for a
drink because just talking about him gets me hot and bothered. And not in a
fun way.
“Why don’t you just sleep with him?” Kennedy shouts and I almost
drop the glass I had to climb up onto the counter to get. We really need to
reorganise these shelves.
“What?” I choke out.
“Yeah,” she begins as if that solves everything. “Just bang out all that
sexual tension and see what happens. You can get it out of your systems.”
I bring my glass of water into the living room, sitting down next to her
on the couch. “Ken, have you met me? I look like this and he’s all that. I'm
not letting any of that near me. Plus, there is no sexual tension to bang out.
You’re making that up.”
“Boo. You’re no fun anymore,” she says, slipping further back into the
couch. “When did you turn into such a prude?”
“When I realised that I’d rather sit naked on a hot grill then let him
anywhere near my private parts,” I say with a shudder for extra effect. Ken
doesn’t take the hint to end the conversation and instead takes another deep
sigh, batting her long eyelashes at me.
“He’s like a lost puppy trailing after you,” she whines. Since when was
she such an Evan supporter? They must have all hopped on the bandwagon
that I’ve missed because I can’t deal with this, as well as my already
conflicting feelings about him.
“That's what it looks like to you. He's more of a leech, picking up on
my every mistake and never letting me live it down.”
“You do the same thing to him. Minus the leech part,” she says,
shuddering. She nudges me with her leg. “Come on, Scar. Just give in. I
know you want to.”
I laugh. “How much is he paying you to say this?”
“Not nearly enough,” she murmurs, and I tilt my head, smirking. She
barks out a laugh. “I’m kidding. I just think you guys could work well
together if you weren’t so set on hating him.”
“We work together fine. Not everyone has to be best friends to make a
decent team,” I say, and she nods, flicking her eyes towards the screen.
“Okay, let’s see who is being voted off this week.”
I get another infectious giggle from her and we’re deep into our
favourite reality TV show. This is how I want to spend my nights instead of
worrying about what’s going to happen. Sometimes all I need is a
hyperactive best friend and a so-bad-it’s-good TV show to laugh at.

OceanofPDF.com
 11
Evan

I’ve spent the last two hours listening to Anderson drone on about shit
he probably has no idea about, followed by a twenty minute conversation
with my dad on the phone. Today is going great.
My dad can never get straight to the point. He has to tell me everything
that has gone wrong with his day, give me a ten page essay on the current
state of the business that I didn’t ask for before telling me why he’s really
calling me. Today’s conversation has a little kick to it, though.
Every once in a while, my dad will talk about my mom, Junie Sylvester.
She’s not like a Voldemort situation where we can’t say her name. If
anything, talking about her brings the mood down.
As much as my dad has a hard exterior, I know he’s a soft puppy on the
inside. I was there with him when he cried over her. My dad misses her, and
I miss her too. I usually save all my talk about my mom for a late night in
the comfort of my bed when I'm missing her, but today my dad wants to
poke some old wounds with his infected finger.
Unlike most cases with spouses in our family that latch onto a Branson
for a sense of security and wealth, my mom decided to run the other way.
Literally. It turns out that constant press about your relationship with a
Branson CEO and anything else you do, isn’t for everyone. I don't blame
her. I know she loves me, and I know she still does, wherever she is.
Still, I wish she stayed and gave me a better goodbye than a stupid
letter that I’ve had since I was twelve. If I really wanted to find her, I could.
Similarly, if she wanted to find me, she could. I’ve never been good at
making the first move and I feel like getting the ‘closure’ my therapist
aspires for will only open more wounds that I don’t need to deal with right
now. As much as I miss her, I’ve moved on and matured. If in a few years
from now, I’m desperate for her contact, I’ll find her. Right now, I’m good.
That’s why I’m shocked that my dad has been talking about her for the
last fifteen minutes, talking about everything from her giving birth to me,
their successful marriage until the moment it suddenly imploded. My dad
made sure that all press would leave her alone as that was the one thing she
requested when she left. In a weird way, his ego was bruised that she didn’t
even try to steal from him or ask for any money. She’s probably started a
new life, making her own money out of the spotlight.
I finally interrupt his rant on how my mom was too good for him.
“Okay, Sammy,” I say, using her nickname for him to reign him back
in. “What do you really want?”
He clears his throat. “Do I have to want something to talk to my only
son?”
“When you’re talking about mom, yes.”
I push my back closer to the wall, sighing against it. Scarlett probably
thinks I’m trying to ditch our study session, but I’ve been trying to put an
end to this conversation for the last half an hour. It’s a pretty busy day in the
library with the freshmen panicking about their first assessments of the
semester and I want to get as much work done as possible.
“I just wanted to see how things are going. You know, with the Voss
girl,” he says in a hushed tone.
“She has a name,” I bite, hating the way he talks about her like that. I’d
be like this with anyone. I know what it’s like to only be known by a last
name and when that name starts to mean something bigger than you could
ever imagine, you realise that you’re nothing without it. I don’t want that to
be the case for her. Or for anyone, really.
He ignores me. “I haven’t heard anything from you since you said that
the jewellery store stakeout was a bust.”
“Yeah, because nothing has happened,” I say truthfully. We haven’t had
time to discuss what happened that night and that was my plan for today,
until my dad called me, a disruption as always.
“Well, you need to make something happen. And quick. We can’t have
the press finding out about this before we get a hold on it,” my dad explains
like I don’t know this already. You try coaxing information out of a girl who
only opens up to you when she’s hungry and tired and spends the rest of
that time giving you the stink eye. “Are we clear, son?”
“Crystal,” I murmur. He’s silent on the other end for a few beats.
“Look, dad, I’ve got to go. These A’s aren’t going to get themselves.”
“Good boy,” he coos, and I roll my eyes, ending the call on him.
When I quietly slip through the library doors, Scarlett is exactly where I
left her. She’s sitting at one end of a brown bench, tucked into the far corner
of the bookshelves in the collaborative study area.
Because she’s Scarlett Voss, she manages to pull off a black dress and
an oversized blazer, her wavy hair tied back into a messy low ponytail, with
small gold hoops in her ears. When she got up to use the bathroom, I got a
look at the loose ribbon in her hair. This time it's a deep red one to add
some colour.
Her style is so unique to her that I’m convinced that people are afraid to
dress like her. It’s not like it’s so out of this world, it’s just not what you
usually get from girls here at NU. It makes me wonder why she doesn’t
have many friends when she has such a good sense of style, she’s smart,
she’s pretty and is casually a millionaire at age twenty.
“You took your time,” she mutters without looking up at me as she
writes in her notebook.
I take my seat across from her, placing my phone face down on the
table. “My dad can talk for the whole of America,” I respond, pulling my
papers back to me. “Have you got anything new yet?”
We are yet to make a breakthrough for this project. Which is
concerning considering we’re both from families that have their own
clothing line that are famous internationally, but Anderson is being a dick
and said we can’t use our own businesses for inspiration and have to start
from scratch. So, we’ve been circling around the same basic ideas for the
last few days.
“Not yet,” she says, finally looking up at me. “I can’t really focus.”
“Did Anderson drain you out, too?” I ask, sighing. She nods. “Ah, so
you admit it?”
Her right eyebrow quirks. “Admit what?”
“That you’re normal like the rest of us,” I say, humour lacing my tone.
 “What makes you think I’m not normal?” She pins her arms across her
chest, leaning back in her chair. She tilts her head at me, nodding at me to
continue.
“You always act like you’re better than everyone in the class, Angel.
You’re the first one there and the last one out. You hand in your work early,
but not as early as me, and when you do, you’re always bragging about how
easy it is.”
She laughs quietly, the sound making all the hairs at the back of my
neck stand up. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to compliment me or not,
Branson,” she says, grinning.
“I’m not.”
“Right. You’re just casually telling me how amazing I am,” she replies.
I swear she’s one cocky motherfucker. “It wasn’t just Anderson’s lecture.
I’m still trying to catch up on sleep after what we saw.”
“And what exactly was it that we saw? Because I only saw two people
talking before you hit the alarm and blew our cover. You should be grateful
we left there in one piece. Who knows what weapons they had on them,” I
say, shuddering at the thought of them harming us in any way. Honestly, it
was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.
She laughs again, sounding a lot like it did that night, wheezy and
chesty. “You’re so fucking dramatic. They weren’t going to hurt us,” she
concedes through her laugh. I shake my head at her, not sure why she finds
the possibility of death so amusing.
“Did you at least tell your uncle what we saw?” I ask, needing her to
give me some sort of information. Anything that can tie this up.
“I can’t exactly follow it up with my uncle because he doesn’t know
that we went,” she mumbles. The words are hard to make out as she strains
her eyes on the sheet in front of her, avoiding my eyes.
“Are you being serious? We went there without anyone knowing where
we were. What if something happened to us, Scarlett? Does that thought not
terrify you a little bit?” I quiz, completely baffled as to how she would let
us go out there in the night, alone, with no one knowing our whereabouts.
When she told me about the lead, it seemed like her uncle had urged her to
go out and see what was going on, not this.
“Can you chill?” she asks, and I can tell she’s trying not to laugh. I
swear, this woman. Then, she adds easily, “If it’s any consolation, there’s a
tracker on my phone and on the car. If we were to get mauled, someone
would have found us.”
“No, that’s not any consolation, you animal.”
Now it’s her turn to shake her head, desperately trying not to laugh at
me. “Listen, there would be nothing to report anyway. I tried looking
through some employee photos and I couldn’t find him. It’s a dead end.”
The words sound like a punch to the stomach. I can’t let this end before
it's even started. The store, the diamonds, Mateo’s signing of the documents
and her uncle's lack of knowledge of this; there has to be something we’re
missing.
“Maybe you’re not looking in the right place,” I suggest with a shrug.
“Do you know something I don’t, Branson? Because where else is there
to look? All the records of the diamond exchange are official. Like I said, I
don’t know who the guy is, and I can’t exactly go up and ask him,” she
explains with a huff.
“Then let me help you.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Scarlett’s eyes widen for a second, clearly taken aback by my
suggestion. What am I doing? I was going to need to ask her at some point.
It’s already enough to be working with her on this project, the last thing she
wants to do is spend more time with me than necessary.
“Why?” she asks finally.
“What?”
“We barely like each other. Why do you want to help me?”
I tut, shaking my head. “No, Angel. You don’t like me,” I correct for
her, reminding her that it’s not me that wants this. She raises an eyebrow.
“Listen, I think we could be a pretty good team if we weren't fighting all the
time. I've got nothing better to do and it doesn't seem like you have many
options to help you either. I'm not going to let you risk your life for nothing.
Not to mention, I’d be the first suspect in the investigation since we're
doing this project together. I don’t want my reputation to be tarnished
because you’d be dumb enough to get killed.”
She scoffs. “If anything, you’d be the one dying first. I have Final Girl
energy,” she says defensively.
“You think so?” I ask cooly. She nods, holding up her chin proudly. “I’d
peg you more as the first girl, but sure.”
 “What have I ever done that makes you think I’m not Final Girl
worthy?”
“For starters, you wear red bottoms for no other reason than they look
good,” I say, but her face doesn’t crack. “You’d be out before the opening
credits roll.”
“Is that how little you think of me? That I’m just a pretty face, too
dumb and easy to kill.”
“You having a pretty face has nothing to do with what I think about
you,” I say, shaking my head at how this conversation has completely
flipped.
She smirks. “So, you admit it? You think I have a pretty face.”
“Scarlett,” I press, ignoring her obvious comment. “Are you going to
let me help you or do you want to keep running your mouth some more?”
She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath in and then back out. “Don’t
make me regret this, Branson.”
“You’re agreeing?” I ask, sounding like a kid on Christmas.
I need to learn how to control my excitement, but it’s hard when it
comes with her. She’s starting to give me these little pieces of herself, and I
want to cherish them all. Her head nods ever so slightly and I take it as a
victory. I hold out my hand to her, ready to formally agree on this.
I’m used to shaking hands with people. It was pretty much my job for a
whole year when my dad got sick of it. Still, I’m surprised my whole body
lights up when Scarlett slips her hand into mine.
We never touch. Ever. When we do, it’s completely an accident and we
pretend it didn’t happen. But right now, as I extended my hand, she put her
hand in mine, no questions asked.
With her rough yet put-together exterior, I don’t know what I was
expecting when her skin came into contact with mine. Not only is her hand
fucking tiny in comparison to mine that engulfs hers, but her hands are also
just so…soft. They’re all feminine and smooth, like a fancy silk sheet.
The way she shakes my hand is nothing like the way I expected it to
feel. Her grip is firm yet gentle, like she’s also had practice with this. She
almost pulls me in a little, trying to see how far she can push me, as if this
is another one of our games. When she finally lets go, I feel like I can
breathe again and I get back down to looking at my work.
 For the next hour, we spend it researching possible business ideas that
haven’t already been done. We’ve been added to a spreadsheet that has all
the other students' ideas, so we know not to do the same as someone else.
This project is a lot harder than Anderson made it out to be. I need to get a
good grade on this project because I’m barely hanging on to an average
grade of a ‘C’ after missing a few classes last year.
I’ve never really thought about what I would do if I had my own
business. In my head, it’s always had something to do with fashion since
I’ve always had an eye for the designs and new ways to make basic clothes
unique. Thinking outside that box has been a fucking struggle.
“Some kind of music site?” Scarlett suggests.
“Like there aren’t already a million of those,” I relay, crossing it off the
list that we’ve been passing back and forth. “A laptop the size of a phone?”
“So, an iPad?” Shit. Why am I actually so terrible at this? “How
about…A food chain that only sells quiche, but they’re sponsored by a huge
dairy farm company. We can do the whole climate and animal safety thing.”
I shake my head. “Too complicated.”
“Complicated is good, Branson. How else do you think we’re going to
get a good grade?” Scarlett questions, sighing frustratedly.
“With an idea that we can actually get our head around would be a good
start,” I say back. The project could be hypothetical, but I know if we think
of a good one, we could turn it into a reality, easily bumping us up into the
top grade boundaries.
She taps her pencil against her laptop rhythmically, gradually gaining a
faster pace. It feels out of beat for a second or two before she matches the
pace again.
God, she’s going to drive me insane.
“I’ve got something,” I say. The words leave my mouth before the idea
is fully formed in my head. This is how most of my ideas start. They are out
there before I can even register it and then they end up becoming a
complete mess. She nods for me to continue, finally dropping her pen.
“How about an app of some sort where you get to record, film, or type a
message to someone, but it doesn’t get sent until you say it does? But you
can’t edit it or change it once you’ve set who you want to set it to and the
date. Once it’s out there, it’s out there forever.”
 “That’s not a bad idea,” she murmurs. “So, it’s kind of like a confession
page? No turning back sort of thing.”
“Exactly,” I say. “It doesn’t always have to be people confessing their
deepest darkest secrets, but it can even be a fun thing where someone can
tell their family that they love them in a less serious way.”
She nods, closing her laptop, resting her head in her hands. “I hate that
idea a little less than the others. Keep talking.”
It’s crazy how she can switch from wanting to argue with me to actually
listening to me. She manages to create this serious, businesswoman persona
when she talks about the project. Even when she’s trying to be nice, she’s
still in control, demanding.
So, when Scarlett tells me to keep talking, I do.

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 12
Scarlett

“I’m gonna be hungover,” Kennedy sings loudly, linking her arm into
mine and Wren’s as we walk along the sidewalk in downtown Salt Lake
City, feeling the end of September chill rush through me.
It’s not that cold out as it usually is, but I still regret wearing only a
black mini dress and heels.
“I’m gonna be hungover,” Wren harmonises, tugging on my other arm.
They both look up at me, waiting for me to finish the line. We’ve been
singing this unironically for the last few months after the video the band
HAIM, posted on TikTok. They get me singing the last line every time, yet
they still look up at me like little puppies, waiting for it.
I finally put them out of their misery.
“I’m gonna drink a bunch of different drinks and I’m gonna be
hungover,” I sing back to them, and they cheer, starting the catchy song all
over again.
I’m sure people are staring at us, but I’ve done this too many times to
care. Nearly every night we go out, the girls insist on singing a song to get
us from one place to the other.
We once walked from our apartment to campus singing the ‘All Too
Well’ ten minute version by Taylor Swift. No breaks. No interruptions. Just
pure and utter chaos. There’s something extremely cathartic about
screaming ‘Fuck the patriarchy’ while walking past the frat houses near
campus.
 Tonight, we’re celebrating the first few weeks of the school year going
surprisingly okay. It’s nothing, but we can think of pretty much any excuse
to go out. It’s always hard to find a day when we can all go out together
because our schedules are a mess again this year, so we’re trying to make
our rare night together fun.
We’ve started going to this bar because my family are friends with the
owners, so we’re able to get drinks without getting checked for ID. The bar
staff always make sure we’re safe and that we don’t drink too much.
Overall, it’s a great place to go when we want to have a good time. I need a
night off from thinking about everything with my dad and since we made a
minor breakthrough with the project, I feel more at ease.
We finally make it to Kiwi, all of our arms linked together. It’s a Friday
night, so we’re not shocked that it’s packed in here. The bar has two floors,
both resembling Nick Miller’s bar in the show ‘New Girl’ with dark brown
accents and burgundy furniture.
The upstairs is where most drinks are served, a jukebox in the corner
and where most of the older, rich people hang out. Downstairs is where me
and the girls usually go, where there’s is a smaller bar, karaoke machine,
booths, and tables full of people dancing and singing.
It reminds me of the kind of restaurant you end up at while on vacation
with your family as a kid, when you’re sleepy and tired, the floors are
sticky, it's humid and you know that you’ll be fast asleep on your way back
to the hotel. It’s by far one of my favourite feelings. Especially with these
girls.
We make our way to the bar, each of us ordering a cocktail to start off,
scanning the surroundings as we lean against the bar. These are the kind of
places where I meet someone, we have a flirty chat, and it usually ends with
me in their bed. I’m willing to see whatever the universe wants to throw in
my way, as Kennedy suggested.
I’ve never been a relationship person and when that line started to blur
with Jake, I vowed never to cross it again. Being in a relationship is a lot of
work and I can’t do that right now. After taking a Buzzfeed quiz with the
girls, it confirmed the fact that I’m afraid of abandonment, realising that I
won’t be enough to make someone stay. It’s a sickening and pathetic
thought, but when you’ve been seen as nothing more than a spoiled
millionaire your whole life, it’s hard to convince people to stay because
they actually like you and not your family’s money.
I can do as many party tricks as I want, give amazing handjobs, pass
every test at the top of the class and I’m still not seen as enough. Not
something that people aspire for.
I’m great on paper but the second a guy realises that I’ve got more
baggage than they’re put out for, they run the other way. I’m the kind of girl
a guy gets before settling down with the bubbly, fun, easy-going, Princess
Sunshine girl. I’ve accepted my fate and I’m cool with it.
Mostly.
“Look! The karaoke machine is free,” Kennedy says, pointing to the
corner of the bar, which holds a modern karaoke machine and a screen.
“Last one there has to do a solo.”
Her last words come out of her mouth in a hurry as she rushes off into
that space of the bar, me following after her and Wren being the last one to
catch up. It’s not that far of a distance, but Ken loves to make things into a
competition and I’m naturally very competitive. Wren’s more of the chill
one, not caring too much about having to sing a solo.
“What song should I sing?” Wren asks, looking through the small
device attached to the screen. “I know the night just started, but I physically
don’t have it in me to go all musical theatre on you tonight.”
“Milesy’s gonna hate that,” I say, laughing.
Her boyfriend is a huge musical theatre fan, which she found out on
their vacation to Palm Springs last summer and the torture she gets put
through whenever they carpool. Kennedy and Wren laugh before I say,
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Something sad,” she replies, and I raise my eyebrows. “I’m fine,
before you ask. Sad music always hits differently.” I nod and she scrolls
through the list again. “I’m thinking Adele. I am so ready to serenade you.”
Less than a minute later, Kennedy and I are slow dancing to Wren
terribly singing ‘All I Ask’ as the whole of the bar sings along with her. She
misses nearly every high note and Kennedy and I try our hardest not to
laugh, feigning sadness as we dance like two lovers going through a
breakup. When she hits the bridge, we can’t help it anymore and we start to
laugh, falling apart in each other's arms.
 Do you ever just look at your friends and think, wow, I am so lucky to
have them? Because I think that every time I look at them. It’s hard to even
put into words the feeling that I get when I spend time around these two. I
love watching Kennedy talk with her hands about fictional characters and
watch Wren cry to Phoebe Bridgers songs. I love the childlike joy on
Kennedy’s face anytime anyone mentions something she loves and the
blush on Wren’s cheeks when she talks about her boyfriend. They make the
most mundane activities fun. We can spend hours talking about the same
topic and I will never get bored. They turn a sweaty bar full of twenty-
somethings into a concert and I love them for it.
Kennedy is trying to catch her breath as the song ends and Wren steps
down from the elevated surface and embraces us as the crowd cheers her
on.
“That was incredible,” I say, hugging her tight to me. She’s all sweaty
and puffy-faced, looking how she does after a training session on the ice.
“Why, thank you,” she says coyly, giving us a curtsy, but it’s more of a
bow since she’s wearing shorts and a tank top. “I think I’ve traumatised
people with that performance.”
“The only person you’ve traumatised is Evan. He’s looking over here
like his life has just flashed before his eyes,” Kennedy says, nodding her
head back towards the bar. She nudges me. “This is closest to the sad I-
Miss-Scarlett face you’re going to get.”
That’s when I see him.
Jesus, how did I not notice him before? And he’s staring right at us.
He’s dressed casually in a white button down, some of his chest
exposed, and black dress pants, his arms crossed against his chest and his
ankles crossed. I shouldn’t be surprised to see him here.
I’ve seen him around here a few times, but he never stays for long. He
sits here on his own, staring at his drink for a couple of minutes before
leaving. I can deal with ignoring him and having a good time, knowing that
he’s judging me from a distance. But tonight, his eyes are on us, and I hate
it.
“How long has he been there?” I ask, turning back to Kennedy, feeling
the heat of his gaze on the back of my neck.
“I saw him when we came in. He’s kinda been watching us. No biggie,”
she replies, brushing it off as she scrolls through her phone. She turns to
Wren who is downing a bottle of water. “I’ve got to show you the video I
took. I’ve already sent it to Lover Boy, so don’t worry.”
Wren laughs. “He’s going to think I’m drunk already,” she says, pulling
Kennedy’s phone into her hand.
I turn back around, ready to tell Branson to bring his sad vibes
somewhere else. What is it with him always scowling like somebody has
personally offended him by having fun? I don’t have any time to think
about it before I collide into someone’s chest.
“Jesus, can you watch where you’re going,” I mutter, pulling myself
out of this stranger’s weirdly comforting smell. It reminds me of Gio’s
house, woody and homey. Still, I don’t exactly want to nuzzle my face in it
right now.
“Clearly not,” the guy murmurs, his voice deep and sultry that it runs
through me like honey, feeling it low and tight in my stomach. I look up at
him.
Holy shit.
He’s gorgeous. Like, Calvin Klien model level of gorgeous.
He looks like a young Henry Cavill – all dark features, sharp jaw, but a
kind and smooth face. His eyes are a bright brown colour that pairs well
with the tight black shirt he’s wearing. And his chest is hard and firm.
Frankly, it’s unfair for him to look this good.
“You alright?” he asks me, steadying me with his firm grip on my
elbow.
I shake my head and when I see his head tilt with a smirk, I nod. How
am I getting tongue tied over a guy I just met? I never get tongue tied. Ever.
I’m not supposed to. It’s undeniably out of character for me. I’ve got tongue
tied over one guy, Jake, and well…you know how that ended.
So, I blurt out, “You can’t just go around with all that,” gesturing to his
chest, “and not expect people to bump into it.”
“You calling my chest an ‘it,’ darling?” he asks playfully.
He’s British?
Game changer or game over? I can't decide. I shake my head again,
trying to get rid of all the filthy things I can imagine him saying in that
accent.
“‘Darling?’ Are you serious? You just bumped into me. The least you
can do is apologise,” I say, instantly getting defensive.
 He clears his throat. “You’re right. I’m sorry my that got in the way of
your night,” he says cooly. I can tell he’s fighting a smile at how ridiculous
this is, but I can’t help but smile too. He holds out his hand. “Maxwell
Grant, but most of my friends call me Max.”
I take his hand in mine. I’ve learnt how to shake a person's hand. More
like I forced my brothers to teach me the best way to do so to seem
intimidating. So, I pull his large hand into mine and squeeze it and watch
the surprise flash across his face.
“Scarlett,” I say back, letting go of his hand.
“No last name?”
“Nope,” I say. I’ve learnt that if they don’t introduce themselves to me
first, they’re more likely to have no idea who I am. He’s lucky he bumped
into me on accident. I’d be damned if I ever give a man the satisfaction of
thinking they know me by judging me off my last name. “So,
Maxwell, is this a usual thing for you? Just bumping into girls and not
apologising.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I said you can call me ‘Max’ and I did
apologise eventually.”
“You said your friends call you ‘Max,’” I retort, feigning confusion.
He holds my stare, a strange fire igniting in my lower stomach. I can’t
remember the last time talking to a guy has excited me so much. If Kennedy
could hear this, she’d be all over it, believing that the universe sent him to
me.
Fuck it.
He leans into me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him
because fuck, he’s tall. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket,
twirling it in his hand. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“I’ll get it,” I say, shaking my head. I know I just met the guy and it’s a
nicer gesture, but I know better than letting a technical stranger buy me a
drink. Who knows what he could do to it. He quirks an eyebrow and he
thinks it’s better not to ask and passes me two twenties.
It’s partly a pathetic excuse to collect my wits, but it’s an excuse,
nonetheless. I watch the smile creep on his face and it’s fucking adorable as
he nods over to the bar. Which is concerning contrasting his very bad boy,
I’ll-fuck-you-into-next-week kind of energy. I pat him on the shoulder,
slipping past him to get to the bar and – of course – Evan is still there.
 “New friend?” he asks when I reach the bar, nodding over to where I
left Max in the crowd. Evan’s leaning his back against the bar while I face
the other way, waiting for a bartender to turn up.
“What happened to ‘Hello?” I ask, not sure why he wants to suddenly
be involved in my personal life.
He shrugs. “Just making polite conversation.”
“That’s not how you make conversation, Branson. They usually start
with nice greetings,” I say sweetly, as if I’m talking to a baby. He scoffs.
“We agreed to help each other with school and my family. What I do
outside of that is none of your business. Plus, I’m with Kennedy and Wren,
I don’t need you babying me.”
He turns to me, setting his dark green eyes on me, resting one arm on
the bar. “That’s even more of a reason for me to be here. If Wren's here,
Miles would kill me if I didn't stay and watch over you.”
I actually laugh at that. “‘Watch over us?’ God, Branson, what kind of
mafia movie are you in? We’re independent women in our twenties. We can
handle ourselves.”
“If I’m going to sit here and drink while you guys break everyone
eardrums with the karaoke machine, the least I can do for the common good
is make sure you don’t break something or yourselves,” he explains,
nodding to where Kennedy has somehow wrestled the karaoke machine
again. That woman needs to learn how to keep still. “I’ll stay out of your
way, but I’m not leaving.”
God, why is he being such a party pooper? Before the project, I could
have fun and mess about. Now he feels like a bodyguard. And not the fun,
sexy kind.
I groan. “You need to loosen up, Branson. Why don’t you turn your
frown upside down and go find some girl to take home? You’re ruining my
vibe.”
He swallows, thinking for a second and my drinks arrive, so I pick
them up, one in each hand. “Maybe I will,” he challenges.
“Maybe you should,” I call, my back turned to him as I saunter back
over to Max.
This is the kind of fun I need.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good night at home like the next girl, but
being here, under the dark lighting with good music playing, I feel at home.
It also helps that I’m dancing next to a really hot guy who hasn’t tried to rip
my clothes off yet. It’s been a good night all around.
I ask Max what year of college he’s in and when he tells me he’s a
junior like me, I feel myself start to relax. He asks me about school, and I
ramble like a fool about my business classes, and he does the same about
his literature degree. I find smart men so fucking sexy, so I don’t miss the
leap my heart does when he easily tells me some of his favourite authors.
I apologise for being rude to him when we first met and he assures me
that its fine, and even when I blurt out my addiction to reality TV shows, he
doesn’t seem phased.
Instead, he pulls me closer into him, so our fronts are almost touching.
“And here I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect,” he murmurs. God,
these British guys really have a way with words.
Because my life is becoming more and more like a movie each day, the
second the atmosphere shifts in our relationship from friendly to flirty, the
music also changes to one of my favourite songs; ‘She’ by Harry Styles.
As Max tightens his grip around my waist, pulling me further into him,
I lock my hands around his neck, loving the way our bodies fit together. We
feel like two pieces of a puzzle, each open piece of us fitting to complete
the other. And he smells so fucking good that I just want it all over me.
We’re hardly even dancing anymore. We’re just pressed against each
other, my head resting on his shoulder as I close my eyes for a second,
letting myself be taken away in the moment as the song builds. It’s hardly a
slow song, but as the song picks up, it starts to feel dirty, and I love it.
When I open my eyes I’m staring directly at Evan. He’s moved from
his spot next to the bar and is instead standing a few feet away from me as
everyone dances around him. My heartbeat immediately picks up. He
stands there, hands in his pockets, face emotionless as he stares directly into
my eyes.
Our gazes lock. Hold. Burn.
I challenge him with my eyes to stop looking at me, seeing how far he’s
going to push it until he finally drops his gaze.
But he never does.
Even when my body is completely pressed to Max’s and I can feel his
bulge in his jeans, Evan doesn’t look away. I grip onto the back of Max’s
head tighter, hating the way he’s looking at me, but I can’t stop looking
back. Even as I try to tell my eyes to move, they just can’t.
Max turns back, glancing over his shoulder, no doubt noticing the
intense staring contest that is taking place and then he turns back to me and
I lean up off his chest to move my attention to him, my front still crushed to
his. “What’s the deal with him? Does he fancy you or something?”
“No,” I say quickly, looking up into his eyes that flash with something I
can’t quite place. “Are you jealous?”
“Scarlett,” he presses, spinning me out and then he pulls me back in
again, clasping his hand around my waist. “Have you seen yourself? You’re
fucking stunning. I wouldn’t be surprised, that’s all.”
Am I blushing right now? No. I can’t be.
I’ve been complimented by guys before, but I don’t know why the way
Max’s says it runs through my body like honey and makes me feel weak in
the knees.
“We’re just working on a project for class,” I say, my voice betraying
me as it sounds shaky when he presses me into him again. “And my best
friend's boyfriend is his roommate so we kind of have to see each other all
the time.”
He hums, murmuring, “That sounds awful.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say back. “I mean, just looking at him makes me mad.”
“I can tell,” he laughs. “You’re squeezing my neck pretty hard.”
“Shit. Sorry.” I detangle my arms from around his neck, but he catches
my wrists, pinning his darkened eyes on me, slowly easing them back up
onto him and I clasp my hands behind his neck loosely this time. He smiles
down at me, a dimple popping out on his right cheek, and it almost undoes
me.
“It’s okay. I like it when a girl’s a bit rough.”
“Yeah?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. I can tell he’s about to kiss
me, but I want to be in control, to be the person to make the first move. A
reckless part of me knows that Evan’s watching, and I want to push him
again, see if he’ll finally stop watching over us and I crash my mouth to
Max’s.
He wraps one hand around my neck, pulling me further into him until
there is no more room for me to go. My breasts are flush against his chest
now and I swallow the groan he makes as I rock my hips against his, loving
the feeling that he has over me. He wraps his hand tighter around my neck,
curling into my hair as he deepens the kiss and I open my eyes as I gasp at
how good it feels.
When my vision clears I catch Evan just…staring.
What the fuck is his problem? I thought the kiss would at least scare
him off a little, not spur him on. Instead, there’s a little more emotion in his
face this time. Anger, maybe? I flip him off behind Max's back, still kissing
him, before tugging on Max’s shirt because holy shit, he really knows how
to kiss.
When I come down from the high, panting and staring up at him, his
lips are swollen, his brown eyes dilated. This is how I like men to look;
dishevelled and still hungry.
I look over his shoulder, hoping to catch Evan’s reaction, but he’s gone.
I look back at Max and I can’t help but smile at his shocked face, loving the
fact that I did that to him.
“Do you kiss all of your new friends like that?” he asks, his hand still
curled in the back of my neck, and I melt into his touch.
Maybe it’s the shitty week I’ve had or the fact that I’ve been feeling out
of control recently or the very weird encounter with Evan, but I lean up on
my tiptoes, press another kiss to his cheek and whisper, “Just the ones I
want to see again.”
I can do this, right? I can have a no-strings-attached relationship with
this gorgeous human as some stability over the next few weeks. I’m not
expecting to fall madly in love with him. I know, just by looking at him and
feeling him, that we’ll be a good match for what I want right now.
Whatever the hell that is.

OceanofPDF.com
 13
Evan

There are many things that I love in the world. I love music and the
feeling that I get when I get in front of a piano. I love my slightly
dysfunctional family. I love school, numbers, and learning. I love money
and power and the opportunities I get when I have it.
One thing I don’t love; dinners with my dad on a random Saturday
evening for no other reason than he “wanted to see me.”
Apparently a half-an-hour conversation on the phone about my mom
wasn’t enough family time for him. This would be fine if I hadn’t been
under surveillance for the last two years and especially over the last few
days as we navigate the Voss situation.
Samuel Branson is a nice guy. He always has been just that…nice. He’s
kept a clean public record and knows exactly how to handle the press the
way his dad taught him. People cast him as the villain because he’s a man
with power and he might not be putting it in the best places, but he’s trying.
Secretly, I think he’s been trying to redirect B & Co for a few years
now, subtly creating more sustainable and environmentally friendly
resources to help strengthen our brand and community. But once someone
has one opinion on you, it’s hard for them to change it. Especially in a day
and age where public apologies are meaningless and cancel culture is so
vehement.
That’s why the Voss’ are not my dad’s biggest cheerleaders. It’s
understandable. My dad knows how to push the competition until it gets too
far, until it’s borderline unhealthy and some people are sick of it. Hell, I
kind of hate it too, but business is business.
Especially with whatever happened with Scarlett at the bar last night, I
haven’t been able to sleep properly. After getting to know her a little more,
watching her grind up against some rando is not something I exactly want
to see.
I suddenly feel protective over her. It might be a little misplaced given
my situation and my need for her to stay on track with the investigation, but
I just couldn’t stop watching her. If I couldn’t tell her to stop, I could at
least make sure it didn’t get out of control.
Well, that was until it got too much and watching her felt like I was
trying to kill myself. You try and watch someone you’ve been arguing with
for two years straight grind up against someone without a care in the world
and see if it doesn’t alter your brain chemistry. The worst part of all? For a
second – and I mean a second – I wished I was in his place instead.
Since we’ve sat down to eat, both of us at heads of the long table in the
sleek, black dining room, my dad has hardly said a word. Am I supposed to
say something? Is this how these check-ins are supposed to go?
We’re just staring at our food without speaking. I push my sprouts to
the side of my plate; I’ve never really liked them, but my dad insists on
making them with every meal. I clear my throat after taking a sip of the
sparkling water beside me.
“Do you want a run-down, or… what?” I ask playfully. My dad drops
his fork onto the table, the clanging sound echoing off the walls. There’s no
one else but us here, other than Mila wandering the halls.
“Do you have one?”
“Sort of,” I begin. He nods for me to continue. “We know that
shipments changed for the diamond imports and that the uncle was
somehow unaware of this. We know that Mateo signed off the change in
shipments and that the people outside the jewellery store must be the ones
in charge of it from their end. My only question is why would he change it
and why is Giovanni unsure as to whether it happened or not?”
My dad hums, the sound so deep that it’s barely noticeable. “They have
to be linked to Tinzin somehow. The dates of when they signed off the
contract for the diamonds was around the same time Tinzin was starting to
get discovered. Perhaps they’re working together.”
 I nod, considering it for a moment. “Yes, but why? Why would Mateo
do something so reckless? Scarlett said herself that he would never
intentionally put their family at risk.”
“Maybe it wasn’t him,” my dad mutters. My stomach drops a little at
the suggestion. It has to be him. As much as he’s a nice guy on the surface,
an extra income through drugs and black market deals are common in major
companies. Sure, they’re not common with ones like ours, but it’s a
possibility. Some people would do anything for an extra bit of cash in their
hands.
“Who else could it be? There’s no one else that has any reason to try
and go against the status quo. It just doesn’t make any damn sense,” I try to
explain, huffing as I run my hand through my hair. Naturally, my hand
latches onto the back of my neck, scratching like I have a bite. I can't keep
getting worked up over this. I need to figure this out, tie it into a neat bow
and move on.
“I don’t know, son. For once, I really just don’t know,” my dad says,
sighing and I can tell he’s just as defeated as I am. “I’ll keep pressuring
Damon and you do what you can on your end. How are things with the
girl?”
“Scarlett,” I correct. “Her name is Scarlett. Can you remember that for
future conversations or do I have to remind you every time, old man?” He
holds his hands up apologetically, signifying that he’s standing down.
“Things are fine. She’s just hard to talk to sometimes.”
He nods understandingly, taking a sip of his red wine before placing it
back down. “Don’t get in your head about it, Evan. You worry too much. I
know it’s a hard task, but you’ll figure out a way to get through to her.”
When my dad puts it like that, it actually seems possible. He’s always
understood what it’s like to be in my head sometimes, realising that it’s not
all sunshine and rainbows up in here. After starting therapy, even though I
don’t go as much now, it’s helped me come to terms with it too. I used to
blame my emotions and my sensitivity for the reason why I couldn’t handle
Cat’s breakup, which ultimately led to my banishment from the company.
But now I realise that it wasn't a weakness, it’s a strength.
Being vulnerable, listening and caring for people has always been
something I’m good at. I just wish people could see that side of me more,
but when they get too close, I end up messing things up and pushing them
away, the same way Cat and I did to each other.
Working on this whole thing with Scarlett is giving me the chance to be
in control and prevent the worst situation instead of trying to cure it.
Prevention is way better than cure.
“I know, dad,” I say back. “I’m trying to-” My phone starts to ring
loudly in my pocket, vibrating against my thigh and I pick it out, smiling as
I see Scarlett’s name on the screen. “Speak of the devil,” I mutter, getting
up from my seat and silently excusing myself to go into the corridor as my
dad continues with his food.
Once I’ve walked as far as I can down the corridor, passing large
modernist art pieces on the walls, I answer the phone.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Branson,” she greets, followed by a huge yawn. Weird. “I need you to
come over.”
“A ‘please’ would be much appreciated,” I tease, resting the phone on
my shoulder so I can’t adjust my sleeves. She doesn’t say anything else.
“What do you want?”
“We’re working together. I can call you whenever I want,” is her
response. It sort of sounds like she’s either slurring or really tired. I can't
decide.
“That’s not exactly how it works, Angel,” I mock. She groans through
the phone followed by another huge yawn. Yep, she’s tired. Tired-Scarlett is
like trying to poke a bear. Terrifying, but weirdly endearing. Which is why
I’m edging her.
“I think I’m having a breakthrough with the project,” she replies, her
voice dropping to a whisper. The sound of her sleepy voice turns my mind
absolutely feral, imagining her in bed or fresh out the shower. It’s sickening,
really, how quickly my thoughts turn something so innocent into something
filthy. And for Scarlett Voss, for god's sake. That itself is a crime.
“Yeah?”
“Mm hm,” she murmurs.
Fuck me. The sound goes straight to my dick, and I barely mutter a
frustrated, “I’m on my way,” before ending the call. I say a quick goodbye
to my dad, ensuring him that I’m going to get information, but I know I’m
not.
 It’s really fucking difficult to say no to things when she talks to me in
that voice. It would drive me insane if any woman spoke to me like that, but
actually knowing Scarlett, and knowing the way she would get pissed at me
if I ever made fun of her for sleepily calling me, it spurs me on.

After nearly passing the speed limit to get to her apartment, I finally
made it up the steps and to her door. The elevator is out of service like
always, so by the time I’ve got to the top I’m heaving, trying to make sure
my white shirt isn’t sticking to my back and chest. I get to number 407 and
knock on the door three times. She doesn’t answer it. In fact, nobody
answers it until I knock again, a little harder this time, and the door swings
open.
Holy mother of God.
It looks like a printer threw up in here. Her precious whiteboard is
covered in printed sheets with green string tying points together with pins.
The whole kitchen counter is decorated in sheets of paper, her laptop
somehow nestled in there as I hear music playing faintly in the background.

♫ Fade Into You - Mazzy Star

Jesus, this girl, and her sad music is going to be the death of me. I can’t
even step into the place without scrunching up sheets beneath my shoes.
“It looks like a crime scene in here,” I mutter, making my way safely to
the kitchen, looking into the living room.
“I had a breakthrough.”
Her voice sounds muffled at first and I don’t exactly know where it’s
coming from and then I turn around and…holy shit.
Scarlett’s in front of me now, clear as day, in nothing but a white tank
top with a tiny bow and purple panties. Her hair is braided into two French
plaits, her waves curling at the bottom, falling down her front and the
brown strands are long enough to cover her breasts.
It takes me a few seconds to really put together what I’m seeing. This
feels like I’m crossing some sort of invisible line for sure. The underwear
isn’t purposefully provocative, they’re a simple cotton design with tiny
white dots on them, but I’m a man and I’ve never seen this woman in such
little clothing. She doesn’t even seem to care, feeling so at home. I mean, it
is her home, so I shouldn’t be so surprised. She doesn’t try to cover herself
up. Instead, she looks at me like I’m the one with a problem.
“You…You’ve not got any clothes on,” is the stupid thing that comes
out of my mouth as she just stares at me, her brown eyes narrowed.
“You ever seen a woman naked before?” she asks cooly. I nod. I’m not
a virgin. I just act like it sometimes because I’m, well, me and she’s Scarlett
Voss. “See, this is just like that except I actually have some of my clothes
on.”
“Barely,” I mutter, giving her another once over. She rolls her eyes at
me, moving past me into the kitchen and I’m struck with a sense of Deja vu.
It was only a handful of weeks ago when she trapped me in here, me on this
side of the island and her on the other side, interrogating me for the
whiteboard, which she clearly found.
I lean my forearms against the marble island, watching as she moves
into the cupboards. Maybe this wasn’t the best angle to choose because now
I can see her small, but round ass in those panties. She reaches up, her shirt
that’s already short as it is, lifting to reveal a small tattoo on her right hip.
Fuck me sideways, it’s hot.
I can’t really see it from here, but there are a few words dotted next to a
small black butterfly.
It’s hard not to stare at it.
At her.
When she’s around, she’s all I fucking see. She’s just there. Constantly
in my face, practically shoving her beauty down my throat without even
trying. She’s stunning and she knows it. Everyone knows it. Well, they
better do or else I’m starting to think I can no longer justify whatever it is
I’m feeling as a common thing.
When my eyes snap back up to her arms, she’s still grasping at
whatever she’s trying to get and even though she’s not short, she still can’t
reach. I push myself back from the island, walking over to her, ready to put
her out of her misery. And because I can’t stop myself, I put my hand on her
hip, steadying her as I reach over her.
Well…shit.
I should have thought that through. I don’t know which one of us gasps
when we notice the skin to skin contact. I don't think we’ve ever been this
close before. Never on purpose. She lets out a sigh, maybe grateful that it’s
only me and I grip onto her tighter, my hands flexing automatically as her
back is basically pressed to my front.
I let myself touch her for a moment. I just keep my hand there for a few
extra seconds, feeling the smoothness of her bare skin, the warmth radiating
from it and the soft, almost buttery feeling I get from it.
“Evan?” she rasps.
“Hm?” Maybe it’s not a good idea to form actual sentences right now.
“What are you doing?” she asks as if it isn’t obvious. There’s a strain to
her voice that I can’t place. Annoyance? Frustration?
“Getting the glass for you, obviously,” I say back, her hair tickling my
chin as I reach further over her. “I’m not that much of a monster that I'm
going to painfully watch you struggle to get it.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Clearly, you can’t,” I huff, picking up the glass with one hand while
slightly shoving her to the side with the other, ending our contact. I put the
glass on the counter, sliding it to her side. “Why do you even have glasses
that high? None of you are over five-seven.”
She leans against the opposite counter next to the sink, crossing her
ankles and placing the glass under the dispenser in the fridge. “I usually
climb up onto the counter, but then you’d end up seeing my bare ass and I
don’t think either of us want that to happen.”
She finishes filling her cup, waiting for her to bring it to her lips before
I say, “I can see your ass perfectly fine like this.” I wait for the words to
register in her brain, seeing if I can push her into the reaction I want. But
she’s cool, calm, and collected as she swallows smoothly, as if she didn’t
hear me.
“Thanks for that analysis, Branson,” she quips, placing the glass onto
the counter, crossing her arms against her chest. “Why are you here?”
Is she being serious? She stares at me, those brown eyes darkening,
pinning me with a look that could send someone running.
“You called me, remember?” I say playfully. Realisation slowly dawns
on her face as her defiant smile fades as her face knots in confusion.
“Did I?” she asks, and I nod, grinning at the way she might be
admitting that she was wrong for once. “Shit. I must have fallen asleep.
Again. I don’t think I’ve been sleeping properly.”
Now I’m curious. “What’s keeping you up?”
 She sighs dramatically. “Just the fact that I don’t know who tried to hurt
my dad and someone might be after me and my family.”
“No one is coming after you,” I say with a groan. This girl needs to
stop stressing out before it rubs off on me. I’m already on edge. One of us
needs to be the sane one here and we both know it’s not going to be me.
“How do you know that? Did they personally let you know that?
Because it feels like someone is watching me at all times, Branson.”
“I just know,” I say quickly, trying my best to convince her. “Just relax,
okay?”
“Ah, yes,” she mimics dryly. “My favourite thing to do.”
“How was your night with- What’s his face?” I ask, trying to turn the
conversation into a safer topic.
Her eye twitches. “I never told you his name but-”
“Steve?” I say cutting her off on purpose. I love the way her face
hardens. She knew I was watching her last night. I mean, she flipped me off
while she was this close to fucking him in the bar. It was weirdly erotic
while she stared directly at me while doing that with him.
“Max,” she corrects, tilting her head at me. Of course, he has a dumb
fucking name. She brushes one of the braids over her shoulder, her hand
locking back in place across her chest. “And you would know if you didn’t
run off.”
“I didn’t run off. I just didn’t want to see you fuck him on the dance
floor,” I challenge. She raises her eyebrows in fake shock.
“Really? You look like the kind of person who would enjoy that sort of
thing.”
“Not when it’s you,” I say. Her lips part and her eyebrows raise, no
doubt about to pick apart what I just said. Before she can have a chance to
question it, I change topics again. “What's this big breakthrough?”
Slowly, her eyebrows soften, and she shakes her head a little, drawing
herself back to the conversation. She drops her arms, her gaze flickering to
the mess of a room she calls her kitchen and then back to me. “Yes, I’m
glad you asked.”
She pushes past me, walking towards her whiteboard and I get a great
view of her ass. Her hips sway back and forth as she marches over to it
basically in slow motion. I really shouldn’t be looking but I’ve not touched
a woman in over a year and it’s safe to say that it’s driving me a little bit
crazy. She’s got the kind of ass you want to get lost in. Spend weeks – no
months – getting to know.
“Can you at least put on some sweatpants?” I groan, running my hand
down my face when my cock hardens at the thought of her ass beneath my
palms. She doesn’t turn back to me. Instead, she fiddles with the
whiteboard, readjusting the pins, continuing to flash me.
“Oh, cause I’m supposed to make you comfortable in my own home,”
she mocks.
“Doesn’t it get tiring trying to argue with me all day?” She shrugs, but
it turns into a shiver, and I can see the tiny bumps rise across her arms. “I
can literally see the goosebumps on your skin. This is clearly more
uncomfortable for you than it is for me.”
She finally whips her head around, those brown eyes staring straight in
mine. “I’m only doing it because since you came in the temperature has
dropped at least twenty degrees.” With that, she turns around, flashing me
her ass once more, walking down the corridor to her room, mumbling,
“You’re like a bad omen or something.”
Seriously? Since I've walked in here all I've felt is heat, heat, heat. And
it definitely wasn’t the sprint I did to get up the stairs to the apartment.
While she’s gone, I take a look at the whiteboard, and she’s actually done
more than I thought.
As easy as this project should be for two people at the top of the class,
it’s been surprisingly difficult. Especially with trying to keep up on extra
credit homework that Anderson sets every day.
She finally materialises in a grey NU sweatshirt and matching joggers
that are way too big for her. I think for a second if someone she slept with
gave it to her or a boyfriend of some sorts. She would never keep anything
of Jake’s given how much of a dick he was. I don’t know why I care. I
shouldn’t care but I have a strange desire to want to know who gave them to
her.
God, I’ve been weird this week. I need to cut it out before she catches
on.
“So…This project?” I ask, trying to keep myself on track.
“Right,” she says, turning back to the whiteboard. “I was thinking about
how we could actually tackle it. I actually liked your idea.”
I tilt my head. “Really? Or are you messing with me?”
 “It surprised me too,” she whispers. “I just like the idea of telling
somebody something and they won’t know until you say it, you know? It’s
like holding onto a secret for so long and you feel free, but still restricted at
the same time because it’s on the app but it hasn’t reached them yet. It’s like
sending a message to someone you know won’t see it until they get home.
That sort of anticipation.”
I nod, feeling like everything she just said is exactly what I’m thinking.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Her face softens a little, letting me see another piece of her as she sort
of smiles at me. “Well, we’ve got some work to do then.”

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 14
Evan

We got through a solid hour of working through the project before

Kennedy came home. She sat in the living room, reciting her whole day to
Scarlett who “Yeah” and “Mm-ed” her way out of the conversation and then
Wren came home, defeated yet happy from skating all day and we called it
a night.
I may have gotten little from her side of the Tinzingate situation, but
finally putting energy into our project felt good. We finally got a basis for
the app, naming it Hard to Tell and working out how it would run
realistically.
I’m desperate to get deeper into this, so I invited her over to my house
today to continue working on it. It's a dumb thing to do, allowing a Voss
onto the property. But living with the boys is like a frat house. I know she’s
been there a hundred times, but I want to impress her for some stupid
reason.
I care about what she thinks of me. I care about what everyone thinks
of me. The house I share with Miles and Xavier shows nothing of my true
character. It’s messy, loud and it smells like BO. But I'm hoping that
bringing her here will help me open up to her more and she’ll feel more
comfortable to do the same.
It’s exactly 3:15 when she turns up outside the gates to the estate. She
drove in her precious Bellezza Nera, and I buzz the monitor to open the
gates and let her drive up. I watch through the security cameras as she steps
out of her huge car in a red dress and black Louboutin heels.
 There is no way she’s that dressed up to come and study with me.
Unless she’s trying to impress me too. No, that would be crazy. She
wouldn’t need to do anything to impress me.
I wait by the door for her to knock and when she does, I swing it open.
I was wrong. The dress isn’t just red, it’s fucking scarlet. Like her name.
The silk material is wrapped around every inch and curve of her body,
hugging her frame like a corset. The dress falls halfway down her thighs,
exposing her long tanned legs. The top part of the dress scoops into a cowl
neck, covering most of her chest but leaves enough up to the imagination.
She’s a few inches taller in those heels, but I’m taller, still towering over
her.
“You gonna let me in or just stare some more?” she asks, peering up at
me. Her brown eyes narrow and I can’t think of a dumb enough excuse, so I
open the door wider and let her in.
“Do you want a tour?” I gesture towards the large black hallway. She
walks behind me, and I look back at her as she admires the minimalist black
and white paintings that are hung modestly on the walls.
“Why? So you can show off?” She scrunches her nose at the painting
before looking at me, taking a sweep of my outfit. “I’m good.”
That’s fair. I can’t tell if she’s playing one of those games where she
pretends she doesn’t care, or if she genuinely is not interested. It would be a
waste of time anyway.
I’ve seen pictures of the Voss estate. It’s not bigger than ours, but that
doesn’t matter when it seems like there’s is full of love and family and
warmth. Real security. The kind of security that actually matters. Here, the
sadness practically echoes off the bland walls, showing everyone who
enters that there is no real life here.
Well, except for Mila who comes rushing towards me now, all golden
fur and chub rubbing between my legs. Scarlett’s still beside me, her eyes
scanning the walls and then down to Mila.
“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” I say, scratching her behind the ears. As
the words are leaving my mouth, I look up to Scarlett and she’s looking
down at me, almost smiling, more at Mila than me, but I take it as a win.
“Are you talking to me or the dog, Branson?” she asks, one of those
lined dimples appearing on her cheek. Mila sniffs around her legs and
Scarlett crouches a little, scratching her on the head before straightening. So
she is a dog person.
I shrug and continue walking down the corridor, saying, “Not sure.
Can’t figure out if you’re into the praise thing or not.”
She barks out a laugh. “Hopefully we’ll never know,” she says as she
steps in to walk beside me. “What are we doing for the project today?”
“I think we have a good base idea down. Maybe we can start to work
on expanding it. Like adding the finer details, you know?”
She nods. “Sounds good.”
And we do just that.
I bring us into one of the spare offices; a medium sized room with navy
walls, an iMac on one of the desks, a black plush sofa against one wall. She
took the seat at the desk, using the iMac to write up plans while I lounged
on the sofa, using my notebook of ideas we’ve accumulated to form a more
concise plan.
There’s not much talking while we work. Some people wouldn’t call it
working together, but that’s exactly what we’re doing. We know what tasks
we need to complete and she just does what she needs to do, while I do
what I need to do. For once, this project seems to be something we actually
agree on. I knew she would like my idea, but every time I look up, she’s
typing away furiously, completely invested in what she’s doing.
I wonder if this is a good distraction for her. If this is what she needs to
take her mind off everything going on with her family. That’s what numbers
and spreadsheets do for me; they allow me to keep my mind focused on
something that doesn’t contain emotions or words with real meanings. They
just make sense together and when they don’t, it’s easy to find a
mathematical solution as to how it went wrong. You can't do that with
people.
We’ve not spoken for another long stretch of time until Scarlett sighs
loudly, leaning back in the chair as it creaks low beneath her weight. “I’m
going to see if I can connect with a software developer. I think this could be
a real app.”
“You think so?” I ask, sitting up straighter on the sofa. She nods, her
eyes wandering a little. She must be tired. She’s been staring at that screen
for almost two hours. Maybe we should take a break.
 “Yes. It would help us get more credits too. I doubt anybody else has
thought of this,” she explains. “I’ll call someone this weekend.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I reply, about to go back to writing but then a
thought pops into my head. “Have you got any more leads on the stuff
going on with your family?”
She raises one eyebrow, rolling in her lips once before pushing them
back out. I know there’s something she isn’t saying and it’s getting harder to
mention it casually. We’ve hardly spoken about it since the stakeout, and I
don’t want her to think that us doing that was a onetime thing. I’m all in.
She swallows, looking out into the backyard that’s a forest of tall pine
trees as she says, “I think I found the guy that was outside the store. I
recognised him and I managed to identify an ID badge that matches the
description.”
“That’s good news right?” I ask, sensing the hesitancy. From the way
she got excited just from thinking about driving to the stakeout shows
enough of her character. That excitement isn’t here anymore. Instead, in its
place is worry and uncertainty.
“Yeah, I guess,” she says, turning back to me, her brown eyes finally
settling on my face. “He owns a restaurant downtown, but I feel like it’s
going to be another dead end. I just don’t want to waste my time.”
“Well, you won’t know if you don’t go,” I suggest. She nods, shrugging
one shoulder. I thought we agreed to work together on this, but she still
seems hesitant. She’s probably trying to dismiss the idea so I add, “I can go
with you. I’m not busy.”
“What makes you think I want you to go with me?” she retorts with that
annoying as fuck head tilt.
“I think previous events show what a good partner in crime I am,” I say
proudly.
She laughs, the sound reverberating through my body. “Do you mean
when you almost shit yourself?”
“We could have been killed!”
“You’re so fucking dramatic. We were fine,” she replies, still laughing.
I shake my head at her, unsure as to when she became such a hurricane,
practically begging for danger. “Fine. You can come. Only because I want
to hear you scream again.”
“I didn’t scream,” I mutter, but taking it as a win anyway.
 We go through another round of comfortable silence, except for the
song she chose to play through the computer. ‘In My Life’ by the Beatles
plays softly as we both work.
She’s stopped aggressively typing now and is instead sketching out a
logo for the app while I work on the boring parts of creating an app. We’ve
been working so quietly together, listening to The Beatles and Fleetwood
Mac that I don’t even realise it’s raining hard outside until Scarlett gasps,
snapping out of her trance.
“Oh, shit!”
“What?” I ask, startled.
“I haven’t been keeping track of time. I’m meant to be going to the
Greyson Fauvel event today,” she explains, starting to pack away her
things. Well that explains why she’s so dressed up.
“Oh yeah? I was going to go to that too.”
I wasn’t.
“Really?” she asks, taking a look at my outfit which is a pair of black
baggy jeans and a white tee.
“Yes. I was invited.” That much is true. Rich boys in the industry send
out invitations like their parents have told them to invite everyone to their
birthday party. People of our status want the most of us there as possible to
slowly build an army of little rich boys doing what they want. I was never
going to go. I always get invited to shit like this, but it would be a waste of
time. I have no idea why she wants to go there. There’s nothing good for
her there. I’m just dying to spend more time doing anything that isn’t being
caught up in my head. “I'll come with you.”
She pauses what she’s doing. “What?”
“Yeah, I was going to go and you drove here so I might as well carpool
with you,” I suggest casually. I already convinced her to let me go with her
to that restaurant. Maybe I’m pushing it too far.
“And you want to go in my car?”
I make a face. “That’s exactly what carpool means. Why are you
making this weird?”
“I'm not making it weird,” she says defensively, pinning her arms
across her chest. The defiant look on her face lasts five seconds before she
turns to look out the window as the rain pours harder. “It’s just..” She sighs
and then adds, “It’s raining.”
 “So?”
She doesn’t look at me as she whispers, “I don't like driving in the rain.
I was going to think of an excuse to leave my car here and get an Uber and
now you’ve ruined my plans.”
She’s embarrassed about not being able to drive in this weather, but I
don’t know why. I get it. If this is something I have to do for her to chill
out, I’ll do it.
“Just let me drive then.”

* * *

It only took two lightning bolts to strike down for Scarlett to agree to
let me drive her car. The rain is relentless. I changed out of my home outfit
into black trousers and a white button down and of course, a black tie. I
have gotten used to driving her car. It’s comfortable and is doing okay on
the road, despite the rain. The Greyson Fauvel event is held at the same
place every year, but I’ve never driven there from my dad’s house.
Unlike the drive to the jewellery store, she doesn’t have her leg propped
up and is instead sitting with her legs crossed, slightly exposing the tan skin
of her thigh. Frankly, it’s distracting.
All I can think about is what she would do if I placed my hand on her
thigh? Would she let me? Would she let me slip my hand further and further
up until she begs me to give her a release?
I’m doing fine until I take the wrong exit on the freeway, and I have no
idea where we’re going anymore. The signal starts to become weak, and the
GPS is left blinking in the same spot that we were in twenty minutes ago.
Now, we’re on the edge of a forest, rain pouring heavily on the hood of the
car as we both stare at the fucked-up GPS.
“Great. Just great,” Scarlett mutters angrily. She turns to me, her cheeks
red with anger. “How did you manage to do this? You said you knew where
we were going.”
“I did. I just got confused and I… spaced out for a few seconds,” I say,
not sure if that’s helping my case.
“You can’t space out while you drive, Branson. It’s, like, rule number
one of road safety,” she argues, tugging on the car door and opening it to
the windy atmosphere. More rain pushes into the car by the wind, covering
the console and hitting me in the face.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you,” she shouts, slamming the door. I flinch when the
sound hits me, watching her strut away in that red dress, practically
hypnotising me. I watch for a handful of seconds before opening my door
and trying to catch up with her.
Fuck, she’s fast in those heels.
By the time I’m walking closer behind her, she’s rambling about how
this is all my fault. For the most part it’s cute; watching her ramble and get
flustered as he talks with her hands, stomping around like a child.
“Trust Evan Branson to get us lost in the middle of nowhere as he
breaks my GPS. All I want is a fun night out, but someone has to go mess it
up again,” she says, turning towards me quickly before continuing to walk
deeper into the woods. I pick up the pace and I’m in front of her now,
seeing how far she’s willing to go until we get lost again. “And because I’m
the stupid one, I let him drive my car.”
Yeah, no.
We’re not doing that.
I turn to her. Her outfit is drenched, sticking to her and her hair is
soaking, her loose curls more defined as it drips onto her dress, looking
blacker instead of dark brown and it’s falling crazily on her face.
I grip onto her shoulders as she continues to talk about how I messed
everything up, shaking her lightly as raindrops pour down my face.
“Can you stop talking for two seconds and let me think?!”
She blinks at me. “You don’t have to shout at me!”
“I’m not shouting,” I say back. I’m definitely shouting now. “Can you
just let me think? Please?”
She stares at me again, her mouth parted as the rain streams down her
face. Slowly, she nods, and I turn my back to her, running my hand down
my face. Fuck. How did I let this happen? I shouldn’t have let this happen.
The woods are thick and muddy, it won’t stop raining and this girl keeps
looking at me like she’s three seconds away from ripping my head off.
I turn back to Scarlett with no plan other than to get us back to the car
and figure it out from there. She’s not looking at me, her eyes are focused
on the ground and from the practised way I can see her shoulders rising and
falling, I can tell she’s forcing herself to calm down, a technique I know all
too well.
I inch closer towards her, reaching out my hand. “Hey, Scarlett. Look,
we can-”
She slaps my hand away. “Don’t ‘Hey, Scarlett’ me, you dimwit!” she
mocks as she pushes me in the chest. Hard. “You got us lost.” She pushes
me again. “In the middle of fucking nowhere.” She pushes me again. “My
shoes are ruined and I’m going to miss the whole event because…” She
jabs a finger into my chest. “Of.” Another jab. “You.”
This time I force myself to breathe because she looks like she’s going
to cry, and I don’t know what I would do if she cried right now. If I tried to
comfort her in any way, she’d probably come straight for my dick.
“Let me carry you,” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can even
register it.
“No.”
“Come on, Angel,” I press.
“No.”
I sigh. “You’re pissed as it is, and I just want to go. So let me carry you,
salvage your shoes and leave so we can get on with our day.”
“You’re right. I am pissed, but I don’t want you to carry me,” she
retorts, throwing her hands up. God, she’s so stubborn. She turns back
around, heading towards the car finally. I run my hand through my hair,
feeling how soaked it is as I follow after her.
I didn’t realise how far out we were until we walked in angry silence
for ten minutes and the car was still far away. She’s talking to herself again,
sounding like an evil genius. Honestly, I want to laugh, but I don’t see how
that will help our situation. I almost fall straight into her when she comes to
halt and screeches.
“Jesus. What is it?” I ask, peering over her. She’s kneeling over now,
hopping in the mud, holding onto her right ankle. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“I think I twisted my ankle,” she groans, shaking her ankle out. It was
about time. She places it down but the second it touches the muddy grass,
she winces.
“You gonna let me carry you now, Angel?” I ask. She looks up at me,
rain streaming between her brown eyes and she nods. It’s barely noticeable,
but it’s something. I crouch down in front of her, already at peace with the
fact my shoes and pants are ruined. “Get on my back.”
She huffs, mumbling about how this is the last thing she wants to do,
but slowly, she eases her thighs around me until I can feel her everywhere.
Even though we’re both soaked with rain, her skin is still warm as she
wraps her arms around my neck and settles her thighs around my back.
We’re definitely crossing some sort of invisible line here, but I need us back
in the car and away from these cursed woods.
“You good?” I ask, starting to bring myself up from the ground. She
tightens her arms across my neck, linking her hands together.
“Never been better,” she mutters into my neck, and I shiver. As I stand,
I instantly grip the underside of her thighs, securing her on to me as best as
I can. Her skin is just so…soft. I fucking hate it. Actually, no. I don’t hate it.
I just hate the way it makes me feel so out of control of my own body and
mind. She’s not even doing anything and it’s messing with me. How is that
even possible?
I managed to walk us to the car, trying so hard not to focus on the way
that nearly every part of her was touching me. Having her touch me like
that was just maddening. Thrilling.
“Do you have wipes or something in here?” I ask when she’s sitting in
the passenger seat. The door is open, rain still pouring as she holds her
heels in her hand, her right foot crossed over her lap.
“In the glove box.”
I round the other side of the car, searching through her glove box to
find some wipes. When I get back to her side of the car, she’s trying to tend
to her ankle, twisting it in all different positions. I’m not a doctor, but I’m
also not an idiot. It looks swollen, it’s got mud all over it and she isn’t
impressed with it either.
I hand her the wipes. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to
clean these, and I’ll check out your ankle. Deal?”
She nods, retrieving them and starting to clean off her heels. I’m
surprised she didn’t put up more of a fight about it, but I think we’ve got to
the point where we’re both too tired to even fight it anymore. I’m going to
help her and she’s going to let me.
Her feet aren’t particularly big, but they just feel like they are when
they are right in my face. Her toes are painted red, matching her dress and
there’s a line around the top of her foot from the imprint of the heel shape.
Gripping onto her ankle lightly, she winces, pausing her scrubbing and
I mutter a ‘Sorry’ in response. I don’t know what possessed her to go out in
the rain and try and run off from me because all she got out of it was a
fucked-up ankle and dirty shoes. I put pressure on the spot I can tell is sore
and I pinch one of the wipes from her and clean off her ankle. Cleaning it
off has probably made it look worse because now it looks even angrier. I’m
still staring at her foot when I hear her shoes landing in the backseat.
The rain has slowed now, and it doesn’t feel like we have to shout just
to hear each other. She peers down at me, swatting her hair from her face.
“What’s the verdict? Am I going to survive, Doc?” she asks, yanking
her foot from my grip and setting it down in front of her across her lap. I
take it as a sign to back up from her, so I stand, leaning on the open car
door.
I tut, shaking my head. “No, I think I’m going to have to amputate your
leg,” I joke, and she frowns, tilting her head to the side. “You’ll be out of
service for a few days.”
She gasps. “A few days?”
“Yep. No strenuous activities for you.”
“No strenuous activities,” she mocks, her voice an octave higher than
her usual one.
“None,” I say.
“Not even dancing?”
“Not even dancing.”
“Walking?”
“No walking.”
She nods thoughtfully and I swear I catch the exact second her eyes
light up with excitement. “What about sex? Missionary only.”
I shake my head. “Especially not that.”
She sulks. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit around all day and
wait for it to magically heal?”
“I’m sure you can find other ways to entertain yourself,” I whisper.
I do the dumbest thing I could possibly do and brush her hair behind
her ear. It was wet and sticking to her face, driving me insane that she
hadn’t removed it. It was only fair for the common good to sort it out before
my OCD had a field day. I've already touched her enough as it is today, but
one more time won’t hurt.
Our gazes lock as she realises what I just did. She tenses at the contact,
her eyes going wide for a second. It’s such an unnecessarily intimate move.
I drop my hand, clearing my throat.
“We should go,” she whispers. “I don’t want to miss out on anything
more than what I've already missed.”
I blink at her, pulling back. “You still want to go to that?”
“I didn’t wear this outfit to just sit around at home. You can drop me off
at the club and I’ll Uber home and pick up my car tomorrow.”
“Fine, but I’m going to come in with you. I can’t have my project
partner breaking her leg. You’ll be even more unbearable to work with,” I
say, my pathetic excuse to stay close to her and keep her from getting
herself into trouble.
“Fine,” she huffs, turning back into the seat.
When is today going to end?

OceanofPDF.com
 15
Scarlett

I ditched Evan the second we got in here.

I've had enough of him today already. He's been just there. There is
only so much of him I can take. He's usually best in small doses, but it feels
like he’s been constantly shoved down my throat recently.
When I get really tired and hungry, I naturally start to go a little
delirious. That’s the only reason why I called him the other day. Caffeine
does nothing to help me stay awake and neither do any type of pills. I was
high on the rush that working on the project gave me and I needed to tell
him before I lost the momentum. I wasn't concerned about him seeing me
almost naked, rival or not, I'm comfortable enough with my body to not
give a shit.
But when he’s around, the temperature either goes below zero or
scorching hot. It fluctuates every time he’s near and it drives me insane.
At my house: freezing. Shouting at him in the woods: hot. Him carrying
me and diggings his fingers into my thighs: freezing. The simple, tiny touch
that sent electric shocks across my body as he tucked a strand of hair behind
my head: hot, hot, blazing fucking hot.
These types of feelings are easy to get rid of and ignore because Evan is
the last person on earth to ever give me electric shocks.
To get rid of that feeling tonight, I found the first guy that gave me the
‘fuck me’ eyes and took him to the bathroom.
Still, when I’m walking out, readjusting my dress, and double checking
my makeup is clear in my hand mirror, Evan’s standing right in front of me.
Great. Just fucking great.
 My hair is as good as it can look after being drenched with rain. My
dress had dried after putting it under the hair dryer. Still, I don’t want Evan
to see me like this. I don't want anyone I know to see me like this. I came
here for a little fun. A release. Not a lecture from the look of disgust on
Evan’s face.
“Done with Steve already?” Evan asks, an evil smirk on his lips. I scoff
and brush past him. The guy that I just with, follows me too, both him and
Evan hot on my heels.
“It was Max and not yet,” I say, correcting him, knowing he’s trailing
behind me. I stop abruptly, wanting this conversation to die a quick death so
I can get on with my night.
“But you were just…With him…” Evan splutters, gesturing towards the
guy silently standing by my side. Jason, I think his name was. He’s a cute
guy; tall, brunette, buzzcut. My usual type.
Mason thinks it’s his time to shine as he extends his hand to Evan. “I’m
Henry.”
Okay, what? I just fooled around with someone who has the same name
as my brother. What the hell?
Evan looks down to Jaxon- no, Henry’s hand and grimaces. “Don’t
care,” he says, and I try not to laugh at the way poor Henry’s face drops. He
disappears as Evan turns to me. “Well, does it mean you’re done with Max
if you were just…” He trails off again.
“I was just…what? Spit it out, Branson.”
“You look like you’ve just had sex,” he points out, lowering his voice
as he gestures at my outfit.
“Oh, and who named you the judge of sex, Mr Branson? Because I
don’t remember that ever being your title,” I say back, raising an eyebrow.
“Careful, Angel. Keep calling me that and I’ll think you actually like
me.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. God, he’s so infuriating. He does one nice
thing, like carry me in the rain and then he starts to be a jerk again. I swear
it’s just wired in him. It's only a matter of time before he acts up again.
“For your information, I spilled a drink on my - already recovering -
dress and he offered to help me clean it up. You see, that’s what gentlemen
do, Evan. They clean up messes they don’t even make,” I argue. I leave out
the part where he may have finger-banged me into next week because I
don’t think that would help my case.
He nods, crossing his arms against his chest as he leans against the pale
blue wall. “Whatever you say.”
For some reason, I don’t believe that he’s choosing to play this cool. He
doesn’t have any right to comment on how I look like I’ve fucked
somebody or better yet, be rude to people I have fooled around with. Not
like I’m any better, but it’s weird when he does it.
I give him one last look before turning around and finding the reason I
came here.

Evan
It only takes Scarlett twenty minutes for her to ditch me again and find
some other dude to warm up to whilst getting slightly drunk. I don’t know
how she’s managed to salvage her wet-hair disaster and turn it into a pretty
decent look. It’s working like magic for her because she hasn’t been left
alone for over two minutes as guys circle around her like vultures.
She doesn’t care though. Or maybe she does and she’s enjoying it.
Because her eyes are closed, her hands are in the air as she sways to the
music. Some girls even come up to me to talk, like they always do at these
exclusive events, but I can’t even give them the time of day.
One girl slips her phone number into my hand after a minute of
nonsensical small talk. Another girl dragged her nails down my forearm,
telling me how good she would be in bed. And another girl grinded herself
into me and called me a prick when I politely asked her to stop.
I can't even entertain it. Not when she’s there. Dancing like that. How
is she managing to dance with a messed up ankle? Beats me. But she’s not
acting like she’s hurt. Maybe she made the whole thing up.
One of the guys in navy dress pants and a white button down that’s
untucked, comes up behind her. She’s minding her business, dancing, and
feeling the music. He places his hands on her waist, pulling her back into
him, her ass right in his lap.
God, this is worse than the other night at the bar. It gets from worse to
fucking unbearable when she opens her eyes, glancing at him for a second
before smiling that sly smile that no doubt signals to him that she’s thinking
about doing more than just dancing with him.
I can’t place what it is that comes over me when I see her like that.
Before getting to know her, I wouldn’t care, but being around her more
often these last few days, I don’t believe this confident act that she puts on
for a second. I can tell on the inside she’s scared, which is why she’s acting
out and doing dumb shit like this.
I watch painfully as she grinds her ass into him as he kisses her neck.
No. Not happening.
I storm over, reaching them in a few seconds. They must be caught in
some lusty daze because neither of them sees me approaching. Hell,
Scarlett’s eyes are still closed. The guy looks drunk or high, or both as he
stares at me, still moving against her.
“Are you done?” I ask her.
Her eyes open then. For a second they're filled with surprise until they
soften, showing me that she’s enjoying pissing off. If that’s what her aim for
this whole thing was, it’s working.
“What do you think?” she asks, slurring as her eyes wander around my
face. She smirks as she purposefully grinds her ass into the dude behind her.
My cock aches at the motion, causing me to groan.
“You’re done,” I say to her, gripping onto her forearms and pulling her
away from him and then into me. She melts into me almost instantly, her
warm body pressing against mine. “Dance with me.”
“Why?”
“Because maybe if I soften you up, you’ll finally let me take you
home,” I say and her eyebrows crease. She looks like a little bunny like
this: her eyes filled with wonder and curiosity, her nose a little red and her
cheeks flushed. Honestly, it’s adorable. “You’re drunk.”
She shakes her head. I can tell it gives her a headache from the way she
shuts her eyes for a few seconds. “I’m sober enough to know I don't want to
dance with you.”
“Then let’s skip the dancing and I’ll take you home. There’s no way
you're driving your car and it’s dangerous to get an Uber at this time.
Please, Scarlett,” I say, practically begging. If anything happened to her…
God, I don’t even want to think about it. She mumbles something about
how she can’t catch a break. I pull apart from her to lift her chin up with
two fingers, urging her to look up at me. “Speak up, sweetheart.”
She groans. “I said, fine. It’s the least you can do after messing up my
shoes, my dress, and my hair.”
“You’re the one who insisted on coming straight here,” I argue.
“Yes, because why would I want to stay at home all night and sulk?
Life is way too fucking short for that.”
I snort. “Since when were you such a party girl?” I’m genuinely
curious, but she doesn’t answer me, as always. Instead, she answers my
question with a question of her own.
“Since when were you such a dick? Oh, wait. You always have been.”
“That’s not true,” I mutter.
I’m sick of this back and forth.
When will she finally see the kind of person I really am and not the
facade that she makes of me every day? If me giving her a piggyback,
tending to her ankle and driving her here wasn’t enough of a clue that I
actually care about her in some fucked up way, I don’t know what is.
She presses two fingers under my chin, titling my head up.
“Speak up, sweetheart,” she mocks.
“Forget it. Just get in the car,” I demand.

Scarlett
Today has been one clusterfuck of a day and I'm ready for it to be over
with. I can deal with a little bit of rain. That’s fine. I can deal with Evan
seeing me as messy and as gross as ever. Not my favourite thing, but
bearable. I can deal with getting a little drunk and Evan being strangely nice
enough to offer to take me back home.
What I can’t deal with is the clamp on my wheel because somebody
decided to park in the wrong spot. My poor Bellezza Nera doesn’t deserve
this. We’re both standing at the curb, staring at it, hoping that blinking will
make it disappear. But it doesn’t.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan. I turn to Evan and for
whatever reason, he thinks this is the appropriate time to smile at me. His
cheeks are flushed from being inside the venue for so long and his hair is a
mess. Still, he’s fucking smiling at me. “You parked us in the wrong spot.”
He pulls out his phone, chuckling. “Don’t blame me, Angel. You have
eyes too.” He starts typing for a few seconds, not looking at me.
“Who are you texting?”
“Charles.”
“Who the hell is Charles?”
“My driver,” he replies flippantly, shoving his phone into his back
pocket. “He’ll be here in ten.”
“Of course,” I mutter.
Obviously he has a driver because he’s so important. I used to have one
too during high school, but as I started to grow up, doing things I know my
family wouldn’t approve of, the stupidest thing would be to have someone
driving me around everywhere and reporting back to my parents. Evan is
either a secretly good boy or he doesn’t give a shit about what his family
thinks about what he does.
Exactly ten minutes later, a black Escalade pulls up behind my car. I
follow behind Evan as he walks towards it.
He opens the backdoor for me and I slide in there, finally able to take
off my shoes. Evan gets in next to me, rattling off my address to the white
middle-aged man in the front seat.
Evan must be as exhausted and pissed off as I am because he leans his
head against the headrest, manspreading. His shirt sleeves have rolled up a
little, exposing his lightly tanned arms and a silver watch on his right wrist
which rests between his thighs on the seat. I weirdly get off on the way I
can unravel him so easily.
So, I move my sore feet from the floor in front of me to over his lap.
I’m messing with him, obviously, but it feels good to know that it wasn’t
just me who felt that strange pull between us earlier when he was tending to
my ankle. We annoy each other. It’s our thing. But sometimes, it feels like
we’re going to burst into flames, and I want to be the one holding the
match.
For a second I think he hasn’t even noticed my bare legs in his lap until
his eyes open. His hot gaze travels from the curve of my foot now resting
on the car door, up my legs and then to my face.
 I’m watching him, trying to see if his face will crack. It’s one thing to
look at, but it’s another thing to read. He doesn’t wear his emotions on his
face like many people I know, where you can tell exactly what they’re
thinking about without asking. His face is blank with a wave of irritation
and anger.
“Don’t do that, Scar,” he breathes.
Scar, that’s a new nickname from him. It’s either my full name or
‘Angel.’ I always thought that was out of bounds for him. He rolls his head
back onto the seat, closing his eyes again.
“Why not? I’ve got nowhere else to put them,” I joke, scooting closer
to him so my knees bend a little and both my thighs and my calves are
touching his legs. “It’s your fault I twisted my ankle.”
“That didn’t seem to be a problem twenty minutes ago when you
fucked that guy in the bathroom,” he relays. I don’t respond and I wiggle
my legs in his lap. He groans. “Don’t do this to me, Angel.”
I’m about to make another snarky comment, but the car jolts forward,
making me yelp as I almost fall flat on my face. Charles shouts out an
apology. I think I mumble something in response, but I can’t focus on
anything other than Evan’s hot and warm hand wrapping around my
middle, pulling me back into the seat.
He huffs and I’m smiling, finally having broken him. His woody scent
invades my senses as his long arm reaches above me as he pulls the seatbelt
down and clips it in.
“I can do that myself,” I say.
“Well, clearly you can’t,” he responds, moving back into his seat with
an exaggerated sigh. He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it messier
than it was before he touched it. He doesn’t even seem to care anymore. In
fact, he seems pissed.
“I don’t know why you’re angry. I didn’t ask you to do that for me,” I
say.
“And I didn’t ask you to put your legs on me, and here we are.”
So, we’re back to this? Perfect.
I avert my gaze from his and turn to look out at the dark night sky. It’s
hard to see the stars, but if I stare for long enough, I can just about make out
tiny silver dots. The smell coming from the crack in the window is one of
my favourite smells. It’s the deep, humid, and thick smell you get after it’s
rained, and I love it. It feels like a warm hug or a fresh shower.
When we get to the parking lot of my apartment building, I glance over
to him and he’s staring out of the window. I hate this uncomfortable feeling
like I’m walking on eggshells around him. I want him to joke with me. To
fight with me. Anything.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, moving to open my door.
“I’m walking you up,” he replies as he opens his door, not giving me a
choice. Great. A new way to make this even more unbearable than it
already is. I carry my heels in one hand as we walk in silence up to the
elevator. When we get to my door, he stands there, hands in his pockets as I
lean against the door.
I can’t take the silence anymore, so I say, “Why are you being so nice
to me today? We’re supposed to hate each other.”
He shrugs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “We can still
hate each other. We’re just two people who know where the line is.
Remember, I need you in one piece so we can finish this project.”
“Right.” For a second I thought he was going to acknowledge the weird
energy that hangs in the air between us. After this mess of a day, I don’t
know where we stand on the frenemy scale.
“You’re not going to throw up or anything, are you?” he asks, nodding
to my door.
“Why? So, you can hold my hair back and whisper sweet nothings into
my ear?” I tease. His face remains stoic, a look of complete defiance.
“Scarlett,” he presses.
“I can handle myself, Branson. I didn’t need you to walk me up here. I
didn’t need you to take me home,” I say defensively. Then, for extra
emphasis, I add, “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but I did.”
“Yeah, but why?”
He scratches the back of his neck, finding the ground more interesting
than my face as he mumbles, “Why does anyone do anything, Angel?”
I could say something smart to catch him out. I could sass him in some
way and get him to roll his eyes at me. This new dynamic is making me feel
uncomfortable. I just want us to go back to our normal before he helped me.
Instead, I let out a soft, “Stop calling me that.”
 He looks at me now, grinning. “I don’t think I ever will,” he says. He
reaches behind me, pushing the door open and urging me to shove me in.
“Don’t die before morning. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
I crinkle my eyebrow. “What's happening tomorrow?”
“Our big plan to find out who that dodgy guy is, remember?”
“Oh.”
He tuts, shaking his head. “Don’t ‘Oh’ me. This could be a
breakthrough in our case.”
“It's not our case, it’s my case. You’re just tagging along.”
“Fine by me,” he says happily, shrugging. “Goodnight, Scarlett.”
Standing there dumbfounded for two minutes after Evan descended the
stairs out of my apartment helped me come to a startling realisation: I no
longer hate Evan Branson, I tolerate him. Maybe even respect him. He’s
done way more than necessary today while still managing to be a prick. It’s
weird. I want him to push me around. I want to push him around.
Sometimes I feel like I’m desperately waiting to see which one of us
breaks first.

OceanofPDF.com
 16
Evan

Something terrible is happening.

Something that should not be happening to a person like me. I’m
always in control of my emotions and events. Well, as in control as one can
be with a life like mine.
After what went down with Cat and my image for the business, I’ve
been trying to be more cautious about how I present myself. After being
humiliated from the whole Oreo situation, not only have I steered clear
from those cookie and cream flavoured monsters, but I’ve also tried to keep
a clean record from all things to do with the press.
It’s natural to get photographed because of who my family is, but it’s
worse when you’re also out in public with another millionaire. Somehow,
while I was helping Scarlett get into the car last night, some dweeb took a
picture of us and blew it out of proportion. The picture is low quality, only
capturing the back of us, but you can tell it’s us by the car and the location.
Everyone and their mothers were at the Greyson Fauvel event last
night. I’ve done my best to get it taken down before more people around
NU get a whiff of it, but some accounts are persistent.
After feeling like a fool for crossing line after line with Scarlett last
night, I kept my distance in class today. I kept all talk to be strictly
academic, planning to talk more about her family situation later. The more I
press on about it, the more likely she’ll become suspicious.
When classes finished, we agreed to meet at her apartment before
heading to the restaurant. Yelsy’s is an Arabian restaurant, a good half an
hour drive from my house and Scarlett’s apartment. According to the
reviews on Google, the owner, Gerard Rothschild attends the restaurant
every day to help keep it afloat. That is the guy we need.
I’m not exactly sure what it is we’re going to do, but we decided that
going as undercover as we can is probably the best idea. That’s why I’m
dressed down today, replacing my usual attire with dark blue baggy jeans
and a white hoodie. Miles said I blend more with NU’s population looking
like this, but I feel like I’m sticking out like a sore thumb.
Just as I walk down the street towards her apartment complex, I send
her a text.

ME: I’m coming up now.

SCARLETT: Don’t bother. Stay downstairs and I’ll come down.

I do as she says, and I stay put, taking a seat in the apartment lobby,
lounging in one of the plush black and orange chairs. I flick through a
sports magazine for a few seconds, not taking any interest, but trying to
make myself seem busy until she finally appears through the elevator doors.
She’s dressed differently too, in black jeans and a steel blue crew neck
and her brown hair is down instead of tied back with one of those ribbons. I
watch her fiddle with the ends of it, slapping it out of her face angrily.
She checks her left and right as if she’s crossing a road before speed-
walking over to me, a little limp still in her leg. She does the motion for me
to get up with her hand, tilting her head towards the exit. I do as I’m told
and follow her.
She still hasn’t said anything by the time we’re crossing the parking lot
towards her car and it’s then that I put the pieces together. I fall into step
beside her, grinning.
“Oh my God. Am I your dirty, little secret?” I gasp dramatically. She
turns to me, still walking as she scoffs.
“Yes, you are. I would rather stab myself in the eye than let my friends
believe that I’m willingly going out in public with you,” she says sweetly.
We reach her car, and she stands with her arms against her chest, pinning
me with one of those looks.
“‘Going out’ is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” I ask, still smiling.
Dropping my voice to a whisper, quickly scanning the parking lot as I add,
“We’re on our way to assess a possible murder situation. We’re undercover
spies.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just get in the car.”
I’m still grinning when we’re ten minutes into the ride, and I can tell
she’s still annoyed about me being here. Some days I’ll be the grumpy one
and others she will be the grumpy one. On a rare day, we’re both grumpy
and pissed off, edging each other on. I like getting her riled up. I honestly
don’t think I’ve had this much fun since I was a kid.
“We’re going to need codenames,” I announce. She glances at me,
frowning before turning back to the road as well as turning up the radio.

♫ Tread Carefully by SZA

“We’re not doing that.”

I ignore her. “I’m going to call you ‘Linda’ for the rest of tonight. Is
that cool?” She groans in response, although I can’t tell if it’s from the
traffic we merged into or the new name. “Thought so. I’ll be Danny.”
She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. I knew she’d come around
to it soon. Maybe she’s into the whole role-playing thing. I wouldn’t be
surprised.
“Hey, Danny?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got a dumb fucking name,” she says. Then she starts laughing.
At her own joke. She doesn’t need me to laugh. Hell, I don’t think she
wants me to laugh. She just sits there happily, smiling at her own jokes like
she's a fucking comedian. I swear she’s secretly such a dork. What’s worse
is the fact that I can’t stop smiling.
“Well, you got Linda so sucks to suck,” I retort, sounding as childish as
ever. After the weird conversations we had last night, this is the kind of
frenemy territory I want to be in. The kind that we’ve got used to.
“Everyone knows that Linda’s are cool. She’s the best character in
Bob’s Burgers,” she argues, glancing at me for a split second before turning
back to the road. I haven’t watched that show since I was a kid.
“Louise is obviously the best character,” I say back. “You remind me of
her, actually. Instead of her pink hat that she always wears, you have
ribbons.”
 She snorts. “I’m not wearing one today and I’m not having a nervous
breakdown.” I don’t know if she’s trying to hide the ribbon I can see tied
around her wrist, but I’ve already seen it.
“Glad to know you have better emotional intelligence than a ten-year-
old.”
She gives me one of her killer death stares before turning to the road.
For a second, I swear I see a small smile on her face.
Maybe I’m imagining it.

* * *

The restaurant is the perfect place to scope out the current target. It’s all
brown and woody, giving it an overall cabin vibe with dark orange lights
hanging over the table. It has an open kitchen, allowing customers to see
straight into the front line of those working the grill, which is also where
we’re planning to spot Gerard. We took a seat in front of the window,
directly across from the kitchen, giving Scarlett the view of the door and
both of us a good look at the kitchen.
Since we’ve sat down and had the waiter take our orders, she’s not said
anything. I’m still not sure exactly where we stand and how to go about it.
I’m used to her talking. I’m used to her shit-talking me and making fun of
me.
When I can't take the silence anymore as she fiddles with the napkin, I
say, “Hey, look. I didn’t want to bring it up, but it feels wrong not to tell
you.” She looks up at me now, her eyes slightly darkening as her eyebrows
furrow. “I’ve seen a few pictures. Of us. From last night.”
She nods once, clearing her throat. “We’re both fully clothed, correct?”
I blink at her rapidly. I know she must have dealt with this before, but
she seems too calm. “Yes. But-”
“Then what’s the problem?” she asks, tilting her head curiously.
“You really want to be seen fraternising with the enemy? You said that
you didn’t even want your friends to see us together, never mind the whole
world,” I say.
She chuckles low. “That was a joke, Branson. My friends know we’re
working on the project together. When a reporter comes up with an
interesting story, then I'll care. Right now, the best they can probably think
of is that we slept together.”
She says it so calmly as if it doesn’t bother her at all. The waiter arrives
with our drinks, placing her Coke in front of her and my lemonade in front
of me. She takes a long sip of it.
“And that doesn’t worry you?”
“No. Why would it? No one is stupid enough to believe I actually slept
with you,” she argues.
“Right.” I glance over to the kitchen and there’s still no sign of him.
“What else are we supposed to talk about while we wait?”
She shrugs, pushing her hair out of her face. “I don’t know,” she says.
She drops her eyes to her hands on the table, mumbling, “What are your
hobbies?”
She asks the question like it physically pains her for us to talk about
something not school or business related. Her whole body practically
cringes as the words leave her mouth, ending the sentence with a shudder.
It’s good for me though. I’m so desperate to break into her special way
of thinking. Sometimes I want to know every thought in her head.
“Seriously, Linda? That’s the best you can come up with?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t want to be here with you to begin
with, Danny. So, excuse me if-”
“I play piano,” I reply, cutting her off. Her eyes widen, mischief and
humour dancing within them.
“Oh shit, I forgot. Like, you actually play?”
“Yeah. I’m in the band.” I regret saying that the second the words leave
my mouth.
I love to play. I’ve had lessons pretty much since the womb since my
mom also plays. When I found out North had music rooms available to all
students, as well as a grand piano in the Radnor building, I couldn’t help
myself.
“And you’re in the band?” she repeats, smiling. It’s not a sweet smile
that she gives strangers. It’s a wicked one that she reserves only for me
when she’s trying to piss me off. If her eyes go any wider, I swear they’ll of
her skull.
“Yes, I’m in the band. Are you going to keep repeating everything I
say?”
 “You're making this too easy," she says.
“Making what too easy?”
“Being able to make fun of you,” she replies, smiling wide. “I'm
convinced it's my absolute favourite thing to do in the world.”
“You must have a very boring social life,” I retort. She shrugs,
dismissing me as she moves on to her questioning.
“So, did you, like, go up to them and ask, “Hey, can I join the band,” or
did they scout you out?”
I’m about to respond seriously, telling her that I was caught playing in
the music rooms on campus and they offered me a spot. I haven’t shown up
to the meetings in a while, but if they ever have a performance, I’ll show
up.
Then I see the way she’s trying her hardest not to laugh at me. I roll my
eyes and the sound comes rushing out of her like a wave, crashing against
the shore in my brain.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” I mutter, shaking my head. She doesn’t
stop laughing until it smooths out with a long sigh. I wish I knew why
making fun of me makes her so happy.
“But you love it,” she says when it finally dies down. Her expression
borders on sadness instead of joy. Her smile wobbles a little as she says, “I
don’t have any hobbies. Not really, anyway. I like fashion, music, and
Pinterest, but doesn’t everybody? I try to make my own designs when I can
but… I dunno.”
“You don’t need to do something extraordinary or special for it to be a
hobby, you know?” I say. She holds my gaze for a second, squinting to see
if I’m being serious. I am. So serious.
She shrugs. “I guess,” she concedes, taking another sip of her drink. “I
just don’t think I'm that interesting in general. Wren has her writing and
skating, Ken paints and swims. I'm just the boring one.”
“You’re not that boring. Your personality can be bearable when you’re
not being mean to me.”
She barks out a laugh. “That's the new way to tell someone that they
have a horrible personality, but they’re kinda pretty so it’s fine.”
“I never said you were pretty,” I challenge. She is pretty. Anyone with
eyes can see that. She’s got this regal, old-money look. Like she’ll kill you
with just a glance. Like she was made specifically to ruin lives.
 “You didn’t have to,” she responds, still smiling.
When our food arrives, we eat in silence. The restaurant isn’t as busy as
we thought it would be, but there’s a low buzz coming from families and
tables that are full of students. If the guy who owns it wasn’t so shady, it
would be a decent place to eat at. The food isn’t half bad either.
We’re halfway through our meal when Scarlett pauses her fork on the
way to her mouth. I’m not stupid enough to turn my head no matter how
badly I want to and see what’s caught her eye, but that could blow our
cover.
“You found our guy, Linda?” I ask, pushing around my food casually.
She nods slowly, dropping her gaze, but slightly angling her head right
towards the kitchen. I look over slightly, noticing two figures.
One of them is our guy: a tall, tanned, and tattooed man with a deep
scar on his cheek that’s healed, easily becoming a stereotype for a drug
dealer. There’s another guy, a little shorter, shoulder-length dark brown hair
and an untamed beard.
I accidentally drop my fork the second the overhead music stops
playing and they both turn to me.
Shit. Scarlett shoots me a look to ask what I’m doing, and I shrug,
picking it back up and continue eating, but their eyes are still on us.
I try to keep my cool, pretending to smile and eat, but I can still feel
their hot gaze set entirely on us.
Scarlett sighs, rolling her eyes as she gets out of her chair, tossing her
brown hair over one shoulder. I can tell that she doesn’t prefer having her
hair all down as she’s constantly trying to pull it out of her face. I try my
best to stay calm, but it’s hard to do when she sits in the seat next to me,
pulling it closer to me.
“Move over,” she demands, her strong perfume hitting me in every
place that counts. For a second, it’s all I can fucking smell. Just her. I do as
she asks and shuffle my chair closer to the window as she moves hers into
me, our thighs touching. The heat from her thigh against mine basically
burns straight through my clothes, penetrating every muscle that becomes
fully aware of her presence.
“What are you doing?” I ask, glancing up at the two people who are
still watching us and then back at her.
 “We need to give them a reason to stop staring,” she replies. She places
her hand on my thigh, and I swear I almost burst into flames. Her hand
looks so fucking tiny against me, and my dick twitches at the sight. That is
a No-Go Zone. Especially for her. “Look at me like you love me, Danny.”
“Like I- What?” I splutter, trying to search her eyes for something to
tell me this is a joke, but there’s nothing. All that is in those dark brown
eyes is concentration and someone with a plan.
“Just look at me like I’m someone you want to take home tonight. You
can do that right?” I just blink at her. She’s so close to me now and I’m
hyper-aware of every single inch of her.
The soft curve of her nose, covered loosely with freckles that are only
visible this close. The golden swirl in her eyes. The fullness of her pink lips
as she rolls them in, blinking back at me.
Her right hand is still on my thigh while she uses her other to grab my
hand, placing it onto her hot neck, my fingers naturally curling around the
back like they just belong there. This is unknown territory.
She releases her hand from mine and places it gently on my shoulder
instead. Her face remains unbothered apart from the faint redness of her
cheek.
“Just keep your hand there and look at me. Like, really, look at me.”
“I’m looking,” I murmur. I do as she asks and as I stare straight into her
eyes. I keep my thumb on the base of her throat, feeling her pulse hammer
and my fingers curl to the nape of her neck, and I tug a strand of her hair.
At the contact, her eye twitches slightly as she tilts her head further
back, giving my hand more access to her hair. I try to get as much as I can
without going too far. Needing her close, but not too close. Everything
about her physically is so fucking soft, while on the inside she’s as hard as
granite. It’s like she was made to melt into my hands.
As I keep looking at her, trying to look straight through her, I watch as
her breathing starts to quicken, and she grips onto my thigh. Hard. From
what was once a gentle touch, her grip suddenly turns lethal as she holds
onto it like it’s anchoring her.
We’re both breathing heavily now, just staring at each other as she
holds onto me, and I hold onto her. I don’t think she even notices she’s
doing it.
I notice, though. I notice everything about her.
 There’s a brief moment that can only be described as peace. Where
we’re not trying to do anything other than exist in each other's presence.
We’re not rivals. I’m not the stupid son of a million-dollar company. She’s
not the only daughter to a CEO of a multi-million-dollar brand.
We’re just Scarlett and Evan: two souls who somehow, in some weird
way, are looking at each other like they know each other. Like they just
understand.
Like I said, the moment is brief.
One second we’re staring into each other’s eyes – no, each other’s souls
– and the next I’m looking at the back of Scarlett's head as she talks to a
man in front of her.
It takes me a few seconds to fully register the bearded man as the guy
who was talking to Gerard. Except now, he’s got a pleasant smile on his
face instead of the scowl he was giving us a few minutes ago.
I didn’t even notice that Scarlett wiggled out of my grip, and my arm
moved around her shoulder, pulling her so close to me she might as well be
in my lap as her hand rests on my thigh like it belongs there now.
“Scarlett, tesoro, what are you doing here?” the man asks, planting his
arms across his chest. He has a playful smile on his lips. Scarlett barks out a
laugh and it’s a little strangled as she squeezes my thigh again.
“Just hanging out with my boyfriend,” she says, glancing over to me
with ‘don’t mess this up’ eyes. Oh, I’m the boyfriend. Fantastic. “Right,
boyfriend?”
I press my lips into a line, trying not to laugh at the absurdity. “Of
course, girlfriend,” I say lovingly. “I’d do anything to make my little sugar-
plum Scar-Scar happy.”
She nudges me in the ribs, murmuring, “Reign it in, loverboy.”
I look back at this dude who somehow knows Scarlett and he looks at
me for a second. In fact, he looks at all of me. He looks from my blonde
hair to the neckline of my shirt, right down to the Rolex on my wrist. He
even takes a little step back, no doubt scouting for the kind of shoes I’m
wearing.
“Well,” he starts, ignoring me and turning back to Scarlett. “I’ll let you
guys get back to it. Ah, young love.”
Scarlett smiles at me, her eyes squinting before turning back to the guy.
“Yep. So young and so in love,” she says sweetly.
 The guy nods and the second he turns back around to stand next to our
guy, she practically leaps away from me, grabbing her stuff she left on her
side of the table, almost leaving me behind as she rushes out of the door.
I run after her, and I catch her panting behind the building. Her back is
pressed against the wall, chest heaving as she clutches her black bag to her
chest. I stand in front of her, my arms flapping at my sides, words failing
me.
“Jesus. What the hell was all that about?” I ask breathlessly. When my
breathing starts to return to normal, I ask, “Who was that?”
She gulps, looking down the alleyway we’ve ended up in and then back
at me, her brown eyes wide with concern. “That was Gio. My uncle.”
“He knows we were going to check out the guy, right? Maybe he just
wanted to make sure we were doing the right thing,” I suggest. I mean, why
else would he be there? The guy he was talking to is clearly a suspect and
her uncle must be looking out for her.
She shakes her head. “I never told him I was coming.”
Oh, fuck.

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 17
Scarlett

I’ve been trying to piece together what we saw at the restaurant for the
last four days. Why the hell would Gio be there talking to him? When I
asked him about the jewellery store, he seemed a little closed off about it
and when I told him that the guy was pretty much unrecognisable other than
his posture, he didn’t encourage me to go any further.
Gio has already lost so much in his life; his wife and his close friend. I
can understand why he wouldn’t want to get directly involved in the
investigation, but it’s his brother, his family.
I know he’s always wanted to be a more prominent member of the
business, but I thought the role he had now was good for him. It’s given him
the creative freedom he wouldn’t get in other jobs. He seemed comfortable
with it. It just doesn’t make sense to me that he would try and mess this up
and lie to me. Especially with how consoling our family has been with
everything that went down.
I’ve thought about calling him, but what could I say? He doesn’t know
that I’m investigating and if he is working with Gerard, it’s better if I don’t
know. That could put us all in a terrible position.
I tried rationalising it with Evan, but he was no help. He’s such a
pessimist sometimes. Or he redirects the ideas I come up with and turns
them into something completely different. Even now as we work on the
project in the on-campus coffee shop that Kennedy works at, I can literally
hear the gears turning in his brain.
Letting him in on this investigation seemed like a good idea. We’re
both smart, intelligent and have experience as well as inside-access to pretty
much anything. I just didn’t know how much touching would be involved.
 First, the whole bust at the jewellery store where he was breathing
down my neck, then the whole ‘I’m just going to brush past you while
you’re semi-naked and touch your waist’ debacle, the ankle situation, and
the screaming in the woods and then we had to pretend to date each other.
That last one was only for a few minutes, but it was still torture. Exciting
and weirdly arousing torture.
The thought of being in a relationship with Branson is repulsive, but
there is no way I could ignore the way he slipped his hands into my hair so
naturally.
Another thing that’s driving me insane? Evan taps his pencil on his
laptop while bouncing his knee up and down. He does it while we study
most of the time, but today it’s driving me up the wall.
“God, can you stop doing that?” I finally ask, frustrated.
“Doing what?” He doesn’t even look up from his computer, tap, tap,
tapping his pencil. I just stare at him until he looks up. “Oh, that?”
“Yes, that.”
“Can’t.” He looks back down at his computer, still tapping.
I groan. “What the hell does that mean?” I ask. “Can’t,” I scoff,
mocking his tone.
“I mean, I can. I just don’t want to. It helps me concentrate,” he replies,
shrugging. He stops bouncing his knee but continues hitting his pencil on
the table in a practised motion.
“Tell you what helps me concentrate?” I ask. He looks up at me now,
his shoulders relaxing as if he wants me to continue. “Less of the tapping
and more weed.”
He rolls his eyes. “Weed does nothing for concentration, you idiot.”
“It does for me,” I retort. “You’re telling me you’ve never completed
two weeks’ worth of homework in one night when you’re high as fuck? It
usually ends up as a mess, but it works.” I watch as his eyes try to dart away
from mine, and he doesn’t say no. Sometimes I swear I can see right
through him. “I’ve got a good plug. Obviously, I’m not going to pressure
you, but if I’m going to smoke and you don’t want to be around me, that’s
cool.”
He thinks on it for a second as he keeps his eyes on the table. When
he’s made his decision, he looks up at me, sighing loudly. “Fuck it. Let's do
it. It’s four-twenty somewhere, right?”
 I beam, laughing as I say, “That’s the spirit, Branson.”

* * *

Less than an hour later, we’re sitting on the grey sticky concrete outside
my apartment complex and Evan is coughing his lungs up.
We’ve each had maybe three good hits and I feel chilled out like I
always do. Evan, on the other hand, looks like he’s been eating spicy
noodles, as well as smoking every day for the past two years. I’ve
occasionally seen him smoke cigarettes, so I don’t know why he’s reacting
so badly to this.
Our legs are outstretched in front of us, our heads leaning against the
wall as we blow clouds of smoke into the air. When I make a good circle, I
giggle a little, thinking about how strange it is that I’m smoking with Evan.
I look over to him and he’s leaning forwards a little, clutching his chest as
he barks out another cough.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, laughing, a knowing grin creeping up my
face. He turns to me now as his coughing fit dies down. “Branson, have you
never smoked weed before?”
He leans back against the wall, tilting his head up and I get a very good
look at his throat. It’s long and thick and wholly masculine, constricting as
he swallows. “Of course, I have. I just haven’t felt like this… Fuck,” he
breathes, rubbing at his eyes. He turns to me now, his eyes heavy and red.
“Scarlett, I think I’m having a heart attack.”
I laugh again. “You’re fine.”
He shakes his head, scooting further toward me so our thighs are
touching. He grabs the hand in my lap, his huge hand basically swallowing
mine as he drags it to his chest, placing it right over his heart before
dropping his hand.
“Can you feel my heart right now?” he asks.
“You have a heart?” I gasp dramatically.
“Scarlett.”
“Evan.”
“Can you feel my heart for one fucking second or I’m going to die,” he
demands. I look for the joke in his face or his voice, but it never arrives. He
remains dead serious.
 “You’re not going to die,” I whisper. He doesn’t say anything as his
eyes suddenly become sad, a little child-like, like he’s begging me to do this
one thing for him. I brought him into this mess, so it’s out of my pure
morality that I lay my palm flat against his heart.
Oh my fucking god.
His heart might actually fall out of his chest. With every beat, it feels
like my hand lifts up a few inches as I keep my eyes focused on the dark
blue button down he’s wearing.
Da dum. Da dum. Da dum.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. The words barely pass through my mouth
before I clamp my mouth shut, not needing to freak him out anymore.
“What is it?” Evan asks, worried. He places his large hand over mine,
seamlessly linking his fingers into mine as if it doesn’t set every part of my
body on fire. He presses my hand - our hands - deeper into his chest and I
feel like I’m breathing as fast as him. “Can you tell if something is wrong?
Because it feels like something’s wrong.”
“Can you breathe for just one fucking second,” I seethe. Honestly, I
can’t tell which one of us needs to breathe more right now because
everything about Evan’s hand on mine feels so natural. So safe. Just good.
Then he does the strangest thing. He licks his lips, looks down at our hands
and looks back up at me and he nods. I watch him force himself to breathe.
Our eyes connect and I whisper, “Your heart is beating really fast, Ev.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says back, defensively. I don’t
know why we’re whispering now, but it feels right. His expression changes,
the lines in his forehead softening as he realises something. Shit. I realise it
too. “You just called me ‘Ev.’”
“No, I didn’t.” I totally did. It’s the weed. It has to be.
“You did.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. If I’m going to deny it, I have to
play the part, so I add, “Your name has too many syllables.”
“It has two,” he says back, his voice sounding both shocked and
humorous.
“Yeah. Two too many,” is the best response I can come up with.
I notice our hands are still connected, my hand pressing against his
chest that still hasn’t stopped racing. He doesn’t make a move to stop the
contact and neither do I. I feel like he needs this more than I do. His dark
green eyes still haven’t left mine as he lets out a forced breath.
“I think it’s you,” he says.
“What?”
“That’s why my heart is racing. It’s because of you.”
I let out a short laugh. “Really? What could I possibly be doing that’s
making your heart speed up?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. Just existing.”
I must be panting like a dog now because I swear I can’t breathe
normally. It shouldn’t feel like this: electric. He squeezes my hand, his eyes
not leaving mine. The motion is so simple and noncommittal, but it sends a
strange pang of something through me. What the hell is he doing and why
am I letting him? “Scar?”
Oh, fuck. Not that nickname. Anything but that nickname right now.
It’s still so new coming from him and now this? Come on, Branson. You’re
making things really fucking difficult.
“Hm,” is all I can say.
“I’m scared.” I catch the exact moment the vulnerability takes over.
I’ve always known Evan’s not an evil person. He’s just hard to deal with
and annoying. He’s stuck up and he can be rude when he doesn’t mean to,
but he’s not evil. How could he be with the way he’s looking at me now?
All I see is a scared boy with great big green eyes, searching for a harbour.
“Don’t be,” I say as comfortingly as I can.
“Oh wow. You’re being really helpful right now,” he argues
sarcastically. I knew that it wouldn’t last very long.
“And you’re being really fucking dramatic,” I say.
“No need to shout,” he whispers seriously.
“I’m not shouting!”
Okay.
Maybe I am shouting. Why am I shouting though? Maybe it’s the
unnecessary proximity. Maybe it’s the way he lasted five minutes without
being an asshole. Maybe it’s the fact that he used my nickname, and I
accidentally used his. Maybe it’s everything going on with my family and
our little moment escaping. Maybe it’s just everything.
Breaking my hand away from his, I stand up, brushing myself off as I
say, “Get up. We need to go.”
 * * *

Evan is in no state to do anything other than eat junk food and sleep.
I’m still pissed at him, but I’m enough of a decent human that I walk him to
his house only a few blocks away from my apartment. He sulks most of the
way and I follow suit, not bothering to have a conversation with him like
that.
When we get to his house, Wren and Miles are in the living room,
snuggled together watching the end of Tangled. Sometimes I question the
Gods and how they managed to put two people so perfect for each other in
the same place. Wren’s in one of Miles’ hockey jerseys and leggings, lying
on top of him like a koala while he’s shirtless like always.
As Evan stumbles in, I shut the door behind us, blocking out some of
the cold. He kicks off his shoes at the door, rounding the sofa to walk into
the kitchen.
“Scarlett gave me some dodgy weed, so I’m going to sit in my room
and contemplate life,” Evan complains from the kitchen.
“I did not,” I argue back. I take a seat across from Wren and Miles,
laughing as I roll my eyes. Wren climbs off her boyfriend, nodding at me as
she sits to the side of him instead, placing her feet in his lap. He
immediately wraps his hands around her ankles, massaging them without a
word. “Evan just couldn’t handle it. I had the same amount as him and I feel
fine.”
Evan moves into the living room now, a water bottle in his hand as he
stands behind them on the sofa. “That’s because you’re an insane person.”
“Wait. Did you guys say weed? I want weed,” Miles pipes up, his gaze
flicking between us. Wren turns to him, shaking her head.
“Baby, you’re a mess on your own. You do not need help,” she says,
patting him on the chest as he sulks back into the couch.
“Don’t get any from this one,” Evan says, pointing his water bottle
towards me. I flip him the double bird. “You’re a menace to society,
Scarlett.”
“Oh, please,” I say, waving a hand to dismiss him. “Society loves me.”
“Yeah, right. Society loves that your family’s business is the only thing
keeping it afloat,” he argues. The second the words leave his mouth, I’m
sure he realises the stupid mistake he just made. It takes a few seconds for
Wren and Miles to pick up on what he said before throwing him a puzzled
look and I do the same. But because I’m me, I also have the biggest grin on
my face.
“That’s not the insult you thought it was, tough guy,” I say, laughing.
“You’re right. Actually, no. You’re not right. You’re never right. About
anything,” he rambles. I think I have officially broken Evan Branson
because I swear he’s blushing right now. The way his cheeks turn a slight
shade of pink is sort of…cute. Weird and new, but it’s cute. He taps the side
of his head twice. Three times. “It’s the weed.”
He finally ends whatever the hell that was with an awkward thumbs up
and walks backwards up the stairs, mumbling something about how that’s
him done speaking for the rest of the day. I’m feeling victorious.
I turn back to Wren and she’s smiling like a fool. “You ready to go,
Wrenny?” I ask. She nods before turning to Miles and whispering
something absolutely filthy. The movie is paused so it’s not hard to make
out some of the words she’s saying. I stand up. “I heard the words ‘dick’
and ‘mouth’ and I’m disgusted. Well, slightly impressed, but disgusted,” I
chide.
When we’re linking arms, walking down the block towards our
apartment, Wren says, “You know, I was so afraid of talking about sex out
loud before I started writing books and well, before you started giving us
very explicit rundowns on how your dates ended.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve not been getting any of that recently,” I murmur.
“Why not? Is it because of everything going on with your dad?” Wren
asks, looking up at me with those green-brown eyes as we continue
walking.
How do you begin to explain the situation you're in to your best friend
who has the sweetest relationship with their dad? The easy answer is you
don’t.
I shake my head. “I’m just having less me-time with the whole project
thing,” I say.
That is partly true. Working on this project as well as the regular dose
of homework is exhausting. I’ve always prided myself on having a good,
strong, and healthy social life. Without it, I feel like I’m drowning.
 “You work too hard at school. It’s concerning,” Wren mumbles. I elbow
her in the side, and she giggles. “We should go out tomorrow. Just us girls
and maybe you can text Max. He was very cuddly with you the other night.
And he’s British, so more brownie points for that.”
When your best friend of twenty years looks up at you like that,
grinning, cheeks red and flushed, you can’t say no. Even if it’s the last thing
you want to do with everything going on. Even if you’ve hardly slept in
four days and you’re still a little high from smoking.
That’s why I say, “Sounds good. Let’s do it.”

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 18
Scarlett

Even after jamming out to Gracie Abrams songs while getting ready
with Kennedy and Wren, I still can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling in my
stomach when we get to the bar. I tried not to make it obvious. I don’t want
to ruin their night. It seems like they both need this night out as much as I
do, and I don’t want to jeopardise that with my overthinking.
I texted Max on the way here and he agreed to meet me here. I enjoy
talking to him for some reason. He makes conversations easy and even
though he has this whole bad boy aura around him, I can tell he’s a soft and
slightly nervous boy on the inside. He’s also ridiculously attractive, so that
helps. Second dates (if you can even call it that) aren’t really my thing, but
he intrigues me a little. He tripped me up, he made me blush. That rarely
ever happens if I can control it.
After two rounds of shots at the bar, I stay there, watching Kennedy and
Wren dance together to whatever pop song is playing. I told them I’ll meet
them there in a second, but I need to paint on my best ‘I’m fine’ face before
doing so. I can’t stop thinking about Gio and what he was doing at the
restaurant.
If I think about it theoretically and cynically, he had motives. It could
be him. He's lost the most important thing to him. Looking at a darker
perspective, it seems clear that he would want to avenge that and become a
more prominent member in the family. What I don’t understand is that after
he lost Sara, our family became the most important thing to him. Why
would he try to mess that up?
 I’m so deep in thought that I don’t recognise the warm body behind me.
I flinch at the contact of a strong hand on my shoulder, and I turn around,
Max’s deep, woody scent clouding my thoughts for a brief moment. He’s
got that sexy, almost lazy smile on his lips, dressed in a dark blue button
down, his sleeves rolled up and black pants. His dark brown hair looks a
little shorter than the last time I saw him, and I wonder if he’s had a haircut.
“Hi, Scarlett,” he greets, sitting in the seat beside me. I angle myself
better so we’re facing each other, our legs almost tangled together.
“Hello, Maxwell,” I coo, smiling at him. He smiles back at me, a
dimple popping out as he shakes his head. “How are you?”
“Better now that I’m here.” He tilts his head, taking a very deliberate
glance at my body and my outfit. Like usual, I’m wearing a black bodycon
dress with matching thigh high boots. The dress isn’t purposefully
‘provocative,’ but if you’re a person with eyes who’s attracted to women,
you stare for a bit longer than usual. It hugs my curves in a flattering way,
but Max is looking at me like he wants to take it right off me.
“At least buy me a drink before you start eye-fucking me,” I say
through a laugh. He snaps his gaze from my legs to my face and when he
catches me laughing, he lets out a nervous chuckle.

* * *

“So, what do you do in your spare time?” Max asks, taking a swig of
his beer while I take a sip of my cocktail.
It’s really an award-winning question with a million dollar answer. One
of these days, I’ll have an actual answer. But the truth is, I don’t really do
anything.
No one wants to hear about the girl who hasn’t found anything as
interesting as creating outfits or designs and has the opportunity to make
them into a reality. The second I tell people I sometimes design clothes for
fun and they sell for hundreds through Voss, I’m no longer seen as an
entrepreneur or a stylist. I’m seen as a spoiled rich girl. But if I was a man,
it would be so different. If I were my brothers, I’d be getting patted on the
back and praised for my skills. In the words of Taylor Swift, “If I were a
man, I'd be the man.”
 “I like to read,” I say, which isn’t entirely a lie. I do like to read. I just
don’t do it a lot or in my spare time. I read enough for class as it is.
Sometimes just looking at words gives me a headache.
“Oh yeah?” he asks curiously.
Shit.
He’s a literature major, I forgot. How is he managing to trip me up
already? I shouldn’t want to impress him. But, God, having no real hobbies
or interests is embarrassing. He seems so put together, educated, and smart.
And he’s interested in me for whatever reason, and he doesn’t even know
my last name. I cross my toes, secretly crossing my fingers too, hoping he’s
not one of those stuck up I’ll-judge-you-on-your-favourite-author types.
“Whose work do you like the most?”
“I lied,” I admit, the words out of my mouth before I can stop them. If I
want to try this, I’m going to have to be honest, right? His eyebrow quirks.
“I do read, though. Just not in my spare time. I didn’t want you to think I
was boring or uneducated or not interesting. Which is crazy because I don’t
usually care about what people - especially guys - think about me. I don’t
know. I think you kind of intimidate me.”
He studies me silently for a minute. I didn’t have to say all that. I’m
barely even buzzed, so I can’t even blame it on that. It is the truth though.
Usually, being with guys like him, it’s easy and we sleep together, and it’s
done. But for some reason, Max is set on making regular appearances in my
life and it worries me a little.
“It’s okay,” he says reassuringly. My shoulders drop. “I get that a lot,
actually.”
“Really?”
“No.” He smirks. “Besides, I didn’t want to talk about boring literature
stuff. I was only asking follow-up questions to be polite.”
“Wow, who knew you were such a gentleman,” I say bashfully,
pretending to fan myself.
“I can be,” he says with a shrug, a dimple popping out. He pulls his
chair a little closer to mine, our knees touching. The slight contact sends
electric shocks straight to my brain and I shiver, only rubbing against him
more. “Let’s reverse the questions. You can ask me anything you want to
know.”
 I ask him where he grew up and he tells me about London and how his
dad is a fellow American who met his mom there on business. The poor boy
is so naive that he thinks Americans are kinder than British people, which is
insane. I’ve been to the UK, and I’ve spent a week in New York. You can
guess where I’d want to go on vacation again.
“I think you Brits are bolder than you give yourself credit for,” I laugh.
He nods. “Mostly because we know what we want and we go for it,” he
whispers, his voice dropping an octave. I swear the heat has climbed up
here vociferously. “You Americans bullshit your way through conversations
without telling people what they really want.”
“Is that so?” I ask, trailing my nail up his forearm. I know it drives men
insane. From the way I watch Max’s chest rise and fall repeatedly, I know
I’ve hit the target. “Why don’t you tell me what it is that you want,
Maxwell?”
The end of my sentence ends with a yelp as I stumble off my chair, my
back crashing straight into a wall. Max tries to catch me, but his hand only
reaches out half-heartedly before he gives up, shaking his head at me or
whoever’s behind me.
I swear to God, I better not be getting kidnapped right now because
even as I kick and stand on whoever’s toes are behind me, pulling us to the
other side of the room, they’re not letting go of me. I look down at the
blonde-haired arms wrapped tightly around my front.
No way.
No fucking way.
I tell myself to calm down so I can remove myself from his grip. His
claim to my body relaxes when he thinks I’m going to relax and I use the
brief moment to leap out of his arms, turning around and facing him.
Evan Branson has a new hobby where he ruins my dates.
I push him in the chest, watching as he stumbles backwards slightly
into the chalkboard hung up on the wall. He’s not even saying anything, so I
push him again. He just blinks at me like I’m the one who crashed his date.
“What the fuck, Branson? Can’t you see I was talking to someone or
are you not wearing your contacts today?” I quiz. I’ve stopped pushing him
now because that’s getting no answers out of him, and I pin my arms across
my chest.
 “I can see fine, thank you very much,” he responds, dusting off his
shirt. He looks over to where we left Max. “Why are you even giving him
the time of day? I’ve never seen you talk to a guy longer than two minutes
other than him.”
“Sorry. Could you remind me why that’s any of your business?” I ask.
“If you’re secretly planning to murder him and take all of his money, I
can keep that a secret. If not, then I want to know why.”
“Why is me murdering him your first thought?” I ask, laughing. But
he’s not laughing. He’s being dead serious. Okay, so we’re doing this. “He’s
nice and for once, I don’t want to chop his head off. He’s making me
reconsider this whole not-dating-anyone thing.”
Is this entirely true? Sort of. If it means getting Branson to back off and
stop killing my vibe, I’ll say it over and over until it’s the only thing he
hears when he closes his eyes at night.
“‘Nice?” he repeats, exasperated. “You like him because he’s nice?” I
nod. “Him? Seriously? The guy looks like he can’t even tie his own laces.”
I thought I broke him with the weed, but maybe not. Maybe this is his
breaking point. God, I want to see him unravel so badly. I just want him to
stop trying so hard at showing me up and be real with me. I want to shove
him and for him to shove back.
“I don’t know why you care so much, Branson,” I say humorously.
“I don't,” he concedes. He’s lying. I don’t know how or why, but he just
is. The look on his face is something bordering on disgust and anger. “I just
don’t understand why him of all people. Why now? You could have anyone
you want by a tap of your finger and you’re considering him. I just don’t get
it. What made you change your mind?”
Wow. Someone’s asking a lot of questions tonight. Usually I’m the
talkative one. I always have been. There’s something slightly unsettling
hearing him talk so much in one sitting.
I tilt my head playfully, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger.
“You’re awfully curious for someone who hated me a few weeks ago.
Remember that? The good ‘ol days,” I point out.
“I don’t hate you, Scarlett, and you know I don’t.” He looks at me with
that intensity that I can't place. My heart trips over itself when my name
comes out of his mouth in that tone. It's rare that my full name ever leaves
his lips. Not like that, anyway. He blinks back at me as if there’s something
I'm missing. “Just tell me why.”
I could lie to him. I could tell him Max is the greatest guy I’ve ever met
and he’s just it for me. But he’s not. Somewhere deep down, I know he’s
not. There’s something about him that is different from most people like us.
Sure, he’s a little on the nose, but for the most part he’s fine.
“He treats me like an equal and I like him for it, okay? It’s not like
there’s anyone else who wants me for me and not to use me for money or
sex. And he doesn’t want either of those things from me. Well, not now
anyway.”
Evan looks at me like he’s been sucker punched. Jesus, when did he get
so pale? It’s giving me the heebie jeebies as he sticks his tongue in his
cheek and nods slowly as if he’s trying to process the information. What is
wrong with him?
“Good to know, Angel. If he fucks up, just let me know.”
I bark out a laugh at the faux protective thing he’s got going on right
now. “Yeah, like you’re going to do anything,” I say. He pins me with a
look. One of those looks and my mouth clamps together before opening.
“Fine.”
He nods. Once. Twice. And then he’s gone.
I stand there for a few seconds, dumbfounded before I collect myself,
trying to shake off whatever that was.
I don’t like him being protective over me, trying to handle me like I
belong to him or like I’m his girlfriend. We’re just two people who are
working together on a project, sometimes try to solve mysteries together
and occasionally smoke weed. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less. And
the last time I checked; bodyguard does not fit into that description.
When I return to the bar where Max is, he’s still waiting for me. His
whole face lights up when he sees it's me and I can’t hide the blush on my
face even if I tried to.
I slide back into the stool. “Miss me?”
“I thought he was trying to take you away from me,” he responds.
“Not quite,” I say. “Where were we?”
“I was about to tell you how much I want you.”
This, I think to myself, this is exactly what I need. I need someone
who's going to whisper things like that to me over loud music in a bar.
Someone who makes me feel weak in the knees by just being in their
presence.
Suddenly I’m desperate for him.
For a release.

OceanofPDF.com
 19
Evan

I’m not a stupid person. On paper, I get straight A’s and I pass every
test with flying colours. I have basic road safety knowledge, I know first-
aid and I can start and put out a fire. But for some reason, I act like an
absolute fool around Scarlett Voss.
Not only did I act like a dick by pulling her away from her date, but her
friends also scalded me for it. Which also means if Wren were to complain
to Miles, he wouldn’t shut up about it. Luckily, after watching Scarlett get
into her car with that weird British dude, I got back, and Miles wasn’t home
yet.
The first thing I did this morning was go for a run. I don’t usually run
and I’m not the most athletic person, but after having a few days like I’ve
just had, I need to burn off my energy somehow.
Scarlett’s being closed off about seeing her uncle at the restaurant,
which is not helping because I need to give my dad some answers tonight. I
think she’s afraid to say what I’ve been thinking.
From what she tells me, it makes sense that her uncle would try and
attack her dad. He could have used the drugs to blackmail him while
continuing to buy faulty diamonds to scare the businesses. It’s the perfect
motive and the perfect story. Something about it being tied up so neatly
with a bow on top doesn’t sit right with me. There is something messier,
deeper, and darker that we’re missing out on.
My run quickly turned into a sprint, so I turned back towards my house,
jogging on the cool-down.
When I get home, I shower, clean up the stubble on my chin and try my
best to refresh myself. I can’t keep getting caught up in whatever green
eyed monster that has taken over my brain when it comes to Scarlett.
Mostly, it’s a primal, protective nature that I have over her. I’ve always been
like this, and she’s just been too in her head to notice. I’m mostly at the
events she attends, and I covertly protect her. I make sure no creeps or
weirdos go near her or when they do, I give them a look to fuck right off. I
make sure she gets home alright every night.
Even being in competition, our families have known each other for
years which meant I knew Scarlett growing up - sort of. We attended events
together when we were in kindergarten and middle school. We never really
spoke, but there was always this strange comfortable silence that settled
between us whenever we were alone.
She’s the youngest of four brothers and I’m the only son of a multi-
millionaire who developed anxiety early on and obsessive compulsive
disorder not too long after. We were both ignored and belittled. Without
knowing, we found a silent solace within each other. It’s ironic now because
all we do is argue.
Once I’ve gotten ready, it’s well into the second period and I know that
I’ve missed class. The way I lose track of time sometimes worries me. I’ll
be reading a book, trying to forget for a few minutes and then three hours
have passed. I don’t know how I managed to do it this morning. I could’ve
sworn my run only lasted twenty minutes. Maybe I shouldn’t have skipped
breakfast.
I don’t bother to give a lame apology to Anderson about missing class
and I head towards the music rooms instead.
The rooms are each small soundproof cubicles with a piano on one side
of the wall, a mirror above it so when I look in it, I can see the door.
Once I’ve put my bags to one side in the corner, I stretch out my fingers
and I start playing. What comes most naturally is Bach’s ‘Prelude in C
major’, which is the first composition I learned without sheet music. I can
play almost anything by ear now, but as a kid, it was one of my great
achievements.
Now, I don’t even think twice as I let the music carry me to a place
beyond this room. To a place where my mom was still living with us and
we’d spend the morning waking my dad up by sharing a seat on the bench
next to the Steinway, doing a duet. To a place where my anxieties could be
soothed by a book and some music. To a place where it’s just pure, quiet
tranquillity and silence where I’m not obsessing over numbers.
I make a smooth transition into SYML’s ‘Where’s my love,’ closing my
eyes as I allow my body and my mind to settle. My hands mostly move on
their own accord, playing the song seamlessly. It’s a beautiful song. It’s one
of the few non-classical songs that I take my time to perfect. I had to learn
this one to perfection or else it would never do the original justice.
I’m lost somewhere between the chorus and the verse when I open my
eyes for a split second and I take a look in the mirror, Scarlett is standing in
the doorway, her tote bag on her shoulder, dressed in a two piece black
corset top and a black skirt. It gives off the same flair as Voss clothing, but
I’ve never seen it on the website. Her eyes are closed and she’s listening to
me play.
I don’t get nervous playing around people. Sometimes my dad would
make me sit in the living room at soirées just to get the guests to gush over
me. But it’s judgemental, poised, Scarlett Voss who is listening to me play. I
go back to playing, trying not to make it obvious that I know she’s there.
I get around to the chorus again and she starts to hum. I don’t mean to
be dramatic - actually, I don’t care how insane this sounds - but the way
Scarlett is humming right now is the sound I want to hear when I go to
heaven. People can sing, sure. People can play instruments, or they can
dance. But the way she’s humming is sculptured, crafted, just pure
perfection. A lot like her.
Then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.
She starts to sing.
It’s not loud. She probably doesn’t even notice she’s doing it. I love that
she does that sometimes. She says things, whispers them, or she touches
things and I swear she’s so in her head sometimes it’s like she doesn’t
realise she’s doing it. It’s a quiet whisper, but her enunciation of the words
seems like she’s had real practice or training. It’s in a lower key to how the
song is originally played, but it contrasts perfectly with the key I’m playing
in. After a few seconds, she goes back to humming and I can’t help myself.
“Holy shit, you can sing,” I say as I stop playing. Her eyes catch mine
in the mirror and her expression isn’t what I expected. She doesn’t look like
she’s been caught or that she’s embarrassed. She just seems at peace.
“I can't,” she argues.
“You can.”
“Barely.”
“Totally,” I correct. She drops her gaze from mine in the mirror to my
hands on the piano. “Your secret is safe with me.”
 “It’s not a secret,” she challenges. I shrug. “Why weren’t you in class
today?”
“I overslept,” I lie. She wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain what
it’s like to be in my head sometimes.
“Bullshit… but I don’t care,” she says, waving her hand at me. “Look.
I’ve got to cancel the next study session for the project. I’ve got a date.”
Great. She’s spending more time with that fuckwad, Max. I don’t know
him very well, but after a quick google search, I’m fine with keeping my
distance. He’s got a successful family, but he doesn’t act like it. He acts like
a regular twenty-something who doesn’t feel like he needs to impress
anyone. Which is ridiculous if he’s dating Scarlett.
The girl has looks to kill. Any man would be stupid not to be on their
knees begging her for even a minute of attention from her.
“What? Why do you look like you’re going to puke?” she asks,
stepping back a little from me. I glance at myself in the mirror, and I look
pale.
“I’m not,” I say defensively. She doesn’t seem too convinced as she
raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m just surprised you’re dating him because
you’re…”
“What? Successful, funny, smart, intelligent, interesting, amazing…”
she lists. I swear this woman and her ego will be the death of me. She takes
a deep breath and continues listing things about herself which are no doubt
true.
“Hot,” I say, cutting her off. Her surprise is just as good as mine. I rub
my hand across my face, defeated, as I see the grin crawling up her face. I
can't help but clarify, “You’re hot.”
“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Evan Branson thinks I’m hot.”
“You didn’t need me to tell you that.”
She points at me, making a clicking sound as if she’s forgotten
something. “Ah, you’re right, I didn’t. But it still felt good.” She smiles at
me, but I'm not smiling back, realising what a dumb mistake I made feeding
into her ego. She shakes her head as if to get rid of what she was thinking.
“Plus, just because we're going on a date doesn’t mean we’re dating. We’re
just fooling around…consistently.”
“It sounds like you’re dating to me,” I say. She ends the eye contact in
the mirror and instead stands beside the piano, leaning one arm into the top,
revealing a sliver of skin on her stomach and hip and I can see the tattoo
peeking out again. God, I want to know what it says so badly.
She snorts. “What do you know about relationships? It’s weird,
actually. You’re constantly surrounded by beautiful women, like me as you
said, but you never take them home. Why is that?”
I laugh this time. “Okay, calm down. I never called you beautiful. I said
you’re hot. There’s a difference.”
There isn’t a difference. You couldn’t put Scarlett’s beauty into words if
you tried. Those two words are pathetic excuses of adjectives trying to
define the woman in front of me. Nothing could truly do her justice.
“Evan,” she presses.
“Scarlett.”
“Just answer the question, you idiot,” she urges.
I sigh, rolling my head back a little. “I just don’t want to. I had a
relationship in my first year and it didn’t end very nicely. More for me than
for her.”
She shakes her head at me. “That’s why you gotta do what I do.”
“And what’s that?” I ask. “Just fooling around?” She nods, grinning.
“Doesn’t everyone’s feelings just get hurt?”
“You’d have to have actual feelings for the person for them to get hurt.
See, I do this thing where I detach myself from the person I’m sleeping
with.”
“How the hell do you manage to do that?”
She sighs now, looking around the room, trying to find the words for
what she’s trying to explain. It already sounds like a dumb idea. And
impossible for somebody like me.
“Sex is supposed to be liberating, Evan. A release. It doesn’t have to be
this magical, slow, candle-lit experience. Sometimes, all I want is a good
time and a quick fuck.” I just blink at her because holy shit. I had an idea
that is how she operates, but hearing her say it aloud is jarring. A quick fuck.
She narrows her eyes at me as I still stare because…holy shit. “Anyway. I
don’t know why I just told you all that. Erase it from your memory now.”
“Done,” I whisper.
Only I know I won’t be able to. It’s hard to forget things when it comes
to her. Even when she’s gone, I’m still thinking about it.
 My mind goes rotten as I think about exactly what she means by a
quick fuck. Does she need to be attracted to a person to do that or is she
constantly chasing the release of an orgasm? Then my mind goes into an
even filthier place, thinking about what she would look like on her knees,
desperate, soaking wet and needing for me to touch her. Her hands tied
behind her back with that stupid fucking ribbon so she can’t touch herself.
The power she would lose to stop talking about me while my cock is down
her-
Oh, fuck.
I’m attracted to Scarlett Voss, and I want her.
Badly.

** *

When I get to the Branson estate, I see a black Ferrari in the driveaway.
I know my uncle Jack is here. He and my dad are fraternal twins, but as a
kid, they’d always manage to trick me into believing Jack was my dad.
They don’t look much alike now as my dad is desperately still trying to
grow out his grey hair while Jack shaved his into a buzzcut. Being around
both of them, you’d think they’re college students who never grew out of
their ‘I’m still in competition with my brother’ phase.
All in all, it’s always fun being around them. Mostly because Jack
constantly makes fun of my dad, and my dad lets him.
When I walk through the doors to the living room, they’re not in there,
only Mila rolling around on the rug. I kneel down next to her, trying not to
crease my shoes as I scratch her on the stomach. She’s such a good dog. I
sometimes wonder if she gets lonely here, though. I know my dad would
never admit it, but when I come here early in the morning and my dad’s just
getting out of bed, I know she sleeps in the bed with him. I guess they keep
each other company.
“Junie was too good for you.” I hear my uncle's voice booming from
the room over. Great. So, we’re doing this again. I lean against the
swivelling door, trying to get a better listen only to be hit with a strong
wave of Deja vu.
“You think I don’t know that, Jack?” my dad responds, sounding
exhausted.
 “You shouldn’t have let her go.”
“The best thing I could do for all of us was to let her go. You know
that.”
I accidentally put too much pressure on the door, and it swivels open. I
stumble a little, but try and style it out, brushing off my shoulders as if this
was meant to happen. My dad and Jack are sitting beside a small table, an
unfinished game of Go on it as they both lounge in a plush chair on each
side. Jack has the biggest smile on his face while my dad shakes his head at
me, picking up his glass.
As he slams it on the table, he says, “Haven’t you learned your lesson
from last time, boy?”
I shrug, taking a seat across from them. “It’s great to see you too, dad.
And you, Uncle Jack.”
“It would be great to see you too, but your dad is telling me you’ve not
been doing your job,” Jack coos, shaking his head. I roll my eyes.
“Which job? The one where I have to lie to someone I actually like so
you can try and take her family down?”
“That’s the one,” Jack says triumphantly. I lounge back in the chair,
rolling my head back. I don’t want to keep doing this to her. Especially not
with the realisation that I might actually, definitely like her more than I
would ever admit. “You said you like her.”
“Yes, but not like that,” I lie. Jack studies me for a minute, nodding.
“I get it. She’s pretty and you’re distracted. There are millions of
beautiful women, Evan,” Jack explains. But there’s nobody like her. No one
could even come close to the type of beauty and confidence she exudes.
“That’s beside the point,” my dad says. “What’s new?”
I tell them everything I can. Scarlett isn’t giving me much to work with
since she hasn’t spoken to her uncle since we saw him at the restaurant. I
explain to them how it must be him behind all of this and his lack of
encouragement for Scarlett continuing the case could be because he was
trying to make sure that she didn’t find out it was him.
“And..” dad says.
“And something is still missing,” I admit. Jack stops looking out of the
window, and he turns to me now, silently urging me to continue. “I don’t
know what it is, but something doesn’t feel right. It makes sense that it is
him, but we have nothing to pin it on him. Nothing substantial anyway.”
 “That’s what I’ve been asking you to find out,” my dad says. He rubs
his hand down his face, sighing. “It’s no good hanging out with this girl to
not get something concrete. We can’t have you wasting your time.”
“I’m not wasting my time. You try getting information out of a twenty-
year-old girl who wouldn’t even look at me a few weeks ago,” I challenge.
They both snort. “Look, it's not going to be easy. We’ve known that. But
I'm telling you, the second it gets too dangerous, I’m out. For all of our
sake.”
My dad blinks at me. I had to draw the line somewhere. Each day we’re
getting closer and closer to something it also means we’re getting close to
whoever hurt Scarlett’s dad. They could hurt us too if we’re not careful. I’d
easily risk my life for her, but I don’t want to be in a position where that
would have to be the case.
“Okay, fine,” my dad concedes. “Just figure it out quick, boy.”

OceanofPDF.com
 20
Scarlett

I’ve been trying to face my demons. I really have. But it’s the actual
facing them part that’s really fucked me up. What if Gio is actually behind
this? What then? Will he try to attack me too?
I should have brought back-up. Maybe Henry or someone. God, even
Evan sounds like an option here. I shouldn’t be scared to go into the home
I’ve been going into for years, but I’m terrified.
There’s a gentle breeze in the mid-November chill, so my legs are
absolutely freezing. I can’t keep ignoring Gio and I need to talk to him.
The dark brown wooden doors open when I walk up to it, swinging
open with a gentle creek. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. As I move
further in, the house is eerily silent other than the old Italian music playing
from his record player in the kitchen although it sounds distorted. I can’t tell
if my brain is messing up my senses on purpose.
I called out my uncle's name three times without a response. I shudder
as I pass through the dining area, slowing as I pass a cabinet filled with
pictures of him and Sara, as well as family photos from our trips to Italy
over the years. I glide silently through the room, reaching the back door
which leads to a patio and a huge backyard, expanding into the small
woodland that surrounds his home.
I inch toward the open garage door and that’s when I see him.
My uncle is hunched over a table that’s covered in blood. A bucket lays
beside the wooden table, overflowing with a red lumpy liquid. I think I’m
going to be sick.
 Gio’s back is to me, his right arm moving mercilessly over something.
His shoulder raises and falls as he continues kneading something, blood
splattering from each direction, seeping into the brown wood of the walls. It
looks like a crime scene, nothing but the sloshing sounds coming from
whatever Gio is doing. I’ve never seen him like this before.
I take a step back, stumbling. I didn't even realise I was screaming until
words started flowing out of my mouth. “Oh my god!”
He turns around now, which only makes me gasp. He’s wearing an
apron, covered completely in blood, a bloody knife in his hand. I try to
settle my heartbeat, but I can hear it roaring in my ears. “Scarlett, tesoro!
You scared me. What are you doing?”
“What are you doing? What is that?” I ask, gesturing towards the
bloody board, my voice shaking.
Gio inches closer to me and I step back. He studies me for a second and
I blink back at him, words failing me. “Why don't you go inside, and I'll
meet you there once I've cleaned up,” he says calmly.
I walk backwards from the murder scene and slowly make my way
back into the house. Gio would never hurt anybody. Not on purpose,
anyway. As much as my dad has always told me that the business is
dangerous, I didn’t realise just how dangerous.
As he finishes cleaning up, my mind whirs of the hundreds of things he
could have been doing.
“What are you doing here, Scarlett?” he asks, his voice pulling me out
of my daydream. I turn on the couch, watching as my uncle – now in fresh
clothes – sits across from me in the plush leather seat.
“What were you doing?” I gawk, not able to move on as quickly as he
seems like he wants to. He runs his hand through his hair, fiddling with the
ends before clearing his throat.
“I recently took up butchery,” he says plainly. Right. It’s just that
simple.
“But- In the backyard? Is that even sanitary?” I ask, genuinely
concerned. He nods, planning to dismiss me.
“What are you doing here, Scarlett?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t expect to see that and I’m
already on edge so I-”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologise.”
 “But I do. I mean, I came looking for answers and now I just saw all of
that, so you can imagine what I’m thinking.”
“No. I can’t. What’s going on?”
I snort, a disbelieving chuckle slipping from my lips. “What’s not going
on, Gio? Dad still hasn’t woken up and we’re nowhere near finding out
about Tinzin and I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me!” Hot angry
blood surges through me, my cheeks instantly reddening.
Gio’s mouth opens and then closes, searching for words. He holds his
hands up and then drops them with a sigh. “Keeping secrets?” he asks,
stuttering. “What is there that I haven't told you?”
I roll my eyes, dropping my head back and then facing him again,
angry and upset tears brimming in my eyes. “Come on, Gio, don’t bullshit
me. Why were you at Yelsy’s?”
“You mean the shop where I've been buying falafel for years?”
My brain short-circuits and I try to get it to start up again. I blink at
him, hoping that words will come to me, and I’ll have something to say.
“Why were you talking to the owner?”
“He's the only reason I got it so cheap. He knew Lucas, so we had a
mutual friend. The food they have there is to die for, Scar. You’ve tried it.”
I blink back the tears that have started forming. I hate this side of me.
The side of me that’s not put together. The side that cries when I’m angry.
The side that cries at any given moment when things go sideways. “But-
But he’s the one I saw outside the jewellery store. I found someone’s ID at
Voss that matches his,” I try to explain.
“You said it was dark that night. You shouldn’t have gone in the first
place. It might not have been him. You probably got them mistaken.”
I never get people mistaken. That doesn’t happen to me. At first I was
confused, but after spending hours looking through security footage and
ID’s, it made sense that it was him. I recognised his posture and his face
shape; I made sure the security footage linked with the time the sign-in
cards had his ID. I never get things wrong…I never…. I never do.
“Then why were you talking to him while staring at us?” I ask. I could
understand if they knew each other, but having them in the same room,
watching us didn’t sit right with me.
“I was telling him what a great kid you are,” Gio explains, sighing. I
know my uncle loves me. I know that. He always talks highly of me and I
appreciate him for that. “Though, I’m not sure about that boyfriend of
yours. I don’t like the way he was touching you.”
My skin instantly gets hot, thinking of the way he was touching me and
the way I let him. The second I saw Gerard and my uncle together, I knew
something was off, so when they started to stare, I had to think fast.
I didn’t anticipate the feel of Evan’s heavy hand on my neck, the way
his fingers twirled in my hair, the tight tug of it that drove me insane. His
huge hand is exactly that…just huge. I don’t understand how it can feel so
rough but touch me so gently, silently igniting the heavy want in my lower
stomach.
The fact that I felt that kind of want – that chase of a release – from
Evan Branson is troubling. But strangely exciting. I’ve been denying the
girls’ allegations of there being some sort of sexual tension between us, but
after having his hands on me like that, I don’t know how much longer I can
go on denying it.
The last thing I want or need right now are complicated feelings
towards Evan. Especially not when my uncle was just…
“He’s not my boyfriend,” is the lame excuse that comes out of my
mouth.
“Are you sure? You made it very clear that he was-”
I cut him off, not wanting to go into that debate as I remember the
whole ‘so young and in love’ conversation. “So, you’re telling me that the
guy was outside Julia’s — most likely smuggling the drugs – was not the
same guy owning the restaurant?”
Gio nods rapidly. “Sì amore mio.”
“So, my judgement was off?” I ask again, just to make sure. Gio adjusts
in his seat, glancing out the window before looking at me. He holds my
stare, swallowing. I stare back at him, waiting for him to prove me wrong.
To tell me the truth. Whatever that is.
“It happens to the best of us,” he says finally.
But not to me, I think to myself. Not to me.

* * *

I try to keep my cool on the date with Max. It feels like ‘trying’ is the
only thing I’ve been doing recently. I try to have a fun time. I try to focus
on the ridiculously attractive man in front of me who gave me countless
orgasms after our last date. I try to enjoy the food at the Michelin star
restaurant that only exclusive members are allowed to go into. I try to focus
on the heavy hand that’s holding mine under the table. I really do.
We booked a seat in the back of the restaurant in a secluded corner with
dim lighting. He looks extra good today, his hair is neatly combed back,
freshly shaven and unlike Evan, his tie is actually tied.
God, I must really be out of it if I’m comparing my date to Evan as if
he’s the standard. Not only am I invaded by thoughts of Evan, but Gio too. I
can't stop thinking about the noises coming from whatever the hell he was
doing. I just wish I could focus on him. He deserves it.
We’ve been engaging in basic small talk for the last hour over our steak
and fries. When the meal is done and we’re chatting over an empty table, I
slide my card onto the table as the waiter comes to collect it. I return my
attention to Max, smiling as he talks about his little sisters.
“How many siblings do you have again?” he asks me.
“Four older brothers.”
“Brutal,” he says, wincing. “What do they think about us? I’m not in
for a major beating, am I?”
“I haven’t told them,” I say simply. Max is the only guy other than Jake
that I can even consider as someone I’m ‘dating.’
Telling my brothers would only cause more drama. Plus, my mom
would be all over it. It’s not that I want to prove her wrong by not being in a
relationship. It’s the way she views relationships that annoys me. Like she
can’t fathom the idea of two people coexisting without having to
desperately rely on each other and need the other to complete them. I want
to be in a relationship with someone that sees me as an equal. Not someone
that they see as a threat to their manhood or someone who thinks they can
use me and belittles me.
“Why not? I told my sisters about us,” he says flippantly.
“Your sisters are five and seven, it’s not the same thing,” I say, trying to
laugh. He just stares at me. “It’s just complicated.”
He nods and continues talking about London. I’ve been five times, but
he doesn’t seem to care as he mansplains how the underground system
works. When I’ve been zoning in and out, I don’t realise that he’s switched
topics.
 “You know…” he begins. “Your last name sort of sounds like that
clothing brand all the girls at Drayton are obsessed with.”
Oh, shit. My card was on the table for everyone to see. When the waiter
returns with it, I swipe it off the table, slipping it back into my purse. I’ve
been so out of it today I forgot my one rule. My one stupid and pathetic rule
I should have been protecting tonight.
I do what I’ve been taught to do: deny.
“Yeah? Sounds like it doesn’t it,” I say, laughing quietly. He quirks an
eyebrow, shaking his head. For a second I think he’s going to drop it, but he
doesn’t.
“Do you like their clothes?” he asks, sipping on the sparkling water he
ordered, that I stupidly paid for. I was too tired to put up with the fight of
splitting it. I nod at him, not wanting to let this go any further. I’m tired as it
is, and I want this date to end. Then we can try again when I’m not feeling
like a sack of potatoes. “I heard there’s a sale on at the pop up at the mall.
Maybe we could go, and I'd get you something you like.”
I shake my head at him, almost laughing. “Babe, I don’t need you to
buy me clothes.”
He smiles at me, dimples popping out as if this is a new thing for him.
As if he gets off buying things for other people. “They’re really expensive.
It's just a nice gesture. To say thank you, you know…for….”
I tilt my head. “For what? The sex?” He nods eagerly. God, he’s got
this puppy-like persona about him. It’s honestly adorable. “I’m good.”
“I'm just trying to be nice, Scarlett,” he concedes, leaning back in his
chair as he crosses his arms across his chest.
“I know and I appreciate that, but I don't need you buying clothes for
me. Especially not from somewhere where I can get clothes for free,” I say,
putting an end to it. Maybe if I tell him the truth, he’ll still like me. He’s
been a great guy to hang out with. Maybe he’s not like everybody else.
“Oh. Do you have a friend that works for the company or something?”
he asks curiously.
“I am the company.”
“Really?” I nod, instantly regretting it. He squints his eyes at me, trying
to figure me out. I don’t like it. I don’t like this at all. “But you live in an
apartment off campus, and you got the cheapest thing on the menu. If you
were actually connected to them, you wouldn’t even need school.”
 Oh my God. He must really think he’s hit the nail on the head with that
one. This is exactly why I don’t tell people anything about me. They either
realise that I’m not using the benefits of my family’s money to get my way
out of school, or they think that I’m a spoiled nepotistic child who gets
everything handed to her. Or worse, they realise that I have all these
benefits and that they can use me to get what they want.
“Not everyone wants to throw education out the window just because
they can. I live in an apartment off campus because I love my friends. I
ordered the cheapest thing because it was the best thing to get. I’ve been
here five times and I get it every time, no matter who I’m with. And
frankly, I assumed you were paying at first and I didn't want to embarrass
you. I also didn’t know that you could assess wealth so easily,” I get out all
at once, finally ripping the Band-Aid off. I want this day to end. I just want
to crawl up in my room, pull the covers up to my chin and cry.
“What?” he says, blinking as he shakes his head. He’s smiling now, full
on grinning. He might as well puff out his chest and bang on it like a
gorilla, seeing as he looks like he just won the lottery. “Are you
embarrassed by it?” he asks curiously, humour lacing his tone.
“Embarrassed by it?” I repeat, gawking at him. “No. I love my family
and I love our company and everything we’ve done. I’m more embarrassed
by the way people act around me when they realise who my family are.”
“And how do you think I'm acting around you?”
“Like you want to scream at the top of your lungs that you fucked me
last week.”
“Can I?” he asks. Is he being serious? There’s that slight smirk on his
lips, mixed with a head tilt. He must be joking, right.
“No, you dimwit, you cannot,” I say. I might be acting extra defensive,
but I can’t deal with this right now. My legs shake as I stand up, grabbing
my bag from the seat from beside me. “Goodbye!”

OceanofPDF.com
 21
Scarlett

Things have not been going my way today. Everything has been just
fucking great. First, my uncle completely creeps me out with his casual
butcher’s shop in his backyard. Then, I can’t decide if he was gaslighting
me or if I was really that stupid to mix up the person, I saw at the jewellery
store and the ID I discovered. Then, my date blew up in our faces. Now I’m
stomping out like an overstimulated child.
I shrug my coat on, storming through the door as I zip it up. As I step
through the small lobby outside the restaurant, I notice it’s raining. Really
hard. I stay under the shelter, trying my best to pull out my phone without
the wind causing the rain to splash onto the screen.
Of course, it’s a Saturday night and most of the cab services are booked
and unavailable. I take a look down into the suddenly crowded sidewalk
filled with slap happy twenty-somethings all waiting for a cab.
I shove my Airpods in, blasting ‘Space Song’ by Beach House as I start
to walk down the sidewalk. Today has already been a shitshow as it is, sad
music won’t do anything but slightly cure it.
The rain is getting heavier, and I can feel it seeping into my clothes,
ruining my hair. My coat feels heavy, my hands no longer feeling
comfortable in the pockets.
I think about calling the girls, telling them what an insane day I’ve had,
but I don’t want to burden them. They’ve always got something of their
own going on and when they look at my life, it always seems fine and stress
free. When I come to them with problems, it usually isn’t about a failed date
because I never have those. I actually liked Max. For whatever reason, I let
my guard down around him and I started to trust him. He became that one
good thing in the mess my life has become.
That’s how I end up crying as I walk home, the tears disguising
themselves in the rain pouring down my face. God, I truly am pathetic.
Part of me blames myself for messing up today's date. If I hadn’t been
so distant, I wouldn’t have messed up the card. If I could chill out for two
seconds, I wouldn’t have snapped at him and ruined it before having a
civilised conversation. Communication has never been my best strength, but
I’m trying.
There’s that word again.
I’m still a few blocks away from my apartment, convincing myself that
if I play this song on repeat twice more, I’ll be in the lobby. That logic only
works sometimes. My body is too tired to speed up the walk home. I just
want the ground to swallow me whole at this point.
I pass the movie theatre and I know I’m not that far from home. It’s
completely dark outside other than the odd shop light. I try to keep my head
high, not wanting to get freaked out by this dark isolation. Then I see a
black car slow on the road on my side of the street.
I try to ignore it, not looking directly at it as I speed up my walk but
turn down my music. The car’s pace matches mine. Shit.
Can today truly get any worse? The last thing I need is some creep
following me home. I glance over at the car again as the window rolls
down. I turn my head forward, keeping my eyes trained on the bright lights
of the pharmacy ahead.
“Scarlett?” someone calls. Okay, now it is time to walk as fast as I can.
The rain and these heels are not helping. “Angel?”
Of course, it’s him. Of course, Evan Branson has to be here when I’m
at my worst. Great. He’s probably having a field day with this, grinning,
and smirking to himself about how much of a mess I look.
“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” I lie, walking as fast as I can
now, watching my step so I don’t end in a puddle. The car still doesn’t leave
my side as I cross the street, pushing my hair out of my face.
“Let me take you home,” he shouts from the car. I look over at him. His
window is fully down, his arm and head hanging out of it, his white shirt
sleeve drenched by the rain.
“I can walk,” I say back.
 “It’s going to start thundering soon.”
“Perfect. Just what I need to add to this already depressing walk of
shame.”
“Talk to me, Angel,” he presses. “Let me take you home.”
“I would rather walk in the rain than talk to you right now.” As the
words leave my mouth, a loud roar of thunder stops me as I look up at the
sky. Of course, he has to be right.
He groans once the thunder stops. “Then let me walk with you in
silence. Can I do that?”
I don’t respond and I carry on walking. I swear the universe is against
me, distorting time, and distance because I swore I was closer to my house
before Evan turned up. Maybe I’ve started going in the wrong direction. I
spot his house with Xavier and Miles, and I know I must be close now.
Only a few more minutes and I should be home.
I turned my music back up the second he asked that ridiculous question,
but I still hear the car door slam. I glance over at the Escalade and Evan’s
standing outside of it, now walking next to me as he unhooks the large
umbrella that has appeared in his hand.
“What are you doing?” I ask, exasperated as the rain seeps into my
mouth.
He looks at me, his jaw set, and his stare harsh. He opens the umbrella;
his body heat makes me shiver more as his shoulder brushes against mine.
He lifts the umbrella above us, shielding me from the rain and I can breathe
for a second. He nudges his shoulder into mine. “Walking in silence,
remember?”
“Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“I understand what consent means if that’s what you’re asking. But
you’re clearly upset, and I was taught better than to leave someone to walk
alone when they’re upset,” he explains simply. I find that slightly hard to
believe, but he sounds serious. “If you really wanted me to leave, you
would have pushed me into oncoming traffic by now.”
He’s right, so I don’t say anything.
As much as it pains me, we walk the next few blocks in silence. I don’t
want to tell him about Gio. I don’t want to tell him about my date with Max
and he doesn’t push it or ask me. It would be too embarrassing and as much
as I can usually handle his jokes, right now I just want to sleep and forget
today ever happened.
When we get to my apartment, he insists (silently, of course) to walk
me up to my floor. I’m a capable woman. I can usually do these things on
my own, but he’s helping me, and I can’t figure out why. He’s being
somewhat bearable and it’s messing me up on the inside.
When I get to my door, I stand outside of it, staring back at him.
His white shirt is sticking to him because he’s an idiot and he didn’t
wear a jacket. He’s not wearing a tie this time, but his top is slightly
unbuttoned, showing off a slice of his tanned chest. His shirt is doing
annoyingly wonderful things for his build. It’s stuck to him in all the right
places, expressing his large chest and the defined muscles of his stomach. If
I didn’t know what he was really like, I would even find him attractive right
now. I’d want to run my nails down the creases in his abs and scrape my
nails along his back. Especially with all the nice things he’s been doing
lately, it’s overwhelming.
The filthy thoughts start to bombard me at once. “Stop doing these nice
things for me. It’s confusing.”
He runs his hand through his hair, shaking it off as it drips with water
droplets. “What’s confusing?”
“I'm supposed to hate you and you’re not making it easy anymore.
What’s your game plan?” I ask. There must be something behind all this.
Some grand scheme that I’m not aware of.
“I have no plan,” he says simply. He steps closer to me, my back
pressing further against the door. This is the kind of proximity I can’t deal
with right now. Not while he’s being so nice to me. He drops his voice
lower as he whispers, “As cute as it is watching you try to hate me, just give
in. I know you want to.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to,” I challenge, watching the way his
eyes dim as they zone in on me. He’s so close to me now, I can see the light
shade of blue that swirls within his eyes. So close that I can’t tell which of
our hearts are beating so fast. I do my best to ignore the strange chill that
runs down my spine at his proximity. “You’re annoying and rich and blonde
and you talk too much shit. Oh, and did I mention that you’re blonde? It
can’t get any worse than that,” I say in one go. I take a deep breath.
“Actually, it can. You’re also really-”
 He cuts me off with his hand on my face, covering my mouth. I knew
his hands were huge, but Jesus Christ, they’re just massive. They’re still wet
from the rain and so is my face, but they still feel warm.
Holy shit.
Evan Branson’s hand is covering my mouth and I'm not telling him to
move. Something must be seriously wrong with my brain tonight.
“Do you ever know when to shut up?” he growls, those dark green eyes
pinning me with a fierce glare. He groans lightly and I shake my head,
desperate to smile under his hand. My eyes drop to his hand and then back
to his face. “Are you going to stop shit-talking me now or do I have to keep
my hand here to keep your little mouth quiet,” he rasps.
This guy can have a really filthy mouth when he wants to. On the
outside, he’s this typical nice guy with a slight bad-boy complex, smiling
and smirking at everyone. On the inside, he says things like that, and I
wonder for a second – a second – if he uses that kind of language
elsewhere.
I nod frantically and he drops his hand.
“God, Branson. If you wanted me to be quiet you could’ve done that in
a million different ways,” I sigh, pushing some distance between us as I
wipe my mouth. He shrugs.
“Have you got any updates on the situation?” he asks.
“I spoke to Gio, and he says that he doesn’t know Gerard in the way we
thought. He’s an old friend of Lucas’ and apparently makes the best falafel
in town. He said I was confused,” I explain.
He seems to dismiss the first part of what I just said and instead easily
asks, “Do you think you were confused?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Well, just because he said you were, it doesn’t mean you actually
were. You don’t have to listen to him. I know he’s your uncle and all, but if
you know something was off, then go with it.”
He’s definitely making this whole ‘hating him’ thing worse when he
says things like that. Things that I need to hear that just make sense.
“I know,” I say. He nods once. Twice.
“Listen,” he begins, shifting his gaze from my eyes to the floor. “I
know you don’t want to talk about whatever happened tonight, but just so
you know-”
 The door to my apartment swings open, and I stumble back in my
heels, but Evan reaches out and he catches me.
He catches me.
He grips onto my hand, pulling me up into a standing position. I don’t
even get time to register the sharp electric pang that shoots from my hand to
my brain because his hand is shoved in his pocket just as quickly. His eyes
roam over my body for a second, possibly checking for injuries, but when
he sees I’m fine, he scowls at Kennedy who’s standing beside me, smiling
ear to ear.
“Maybe check the peephole before opening the door, Ken,” Evan says
to my best friend in her Christmas pyjamas.
“If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have opened it at all,” Ken says.
God, I’m going to kill her. She looks at me, still smiling. “You should have
told me you were going on a date with Evan. I wouldn’t have burst through
the door. Your Find my iPhone was still on, but you’ve been in the building
for fifteen minutes. I thought you were getting attacked.”
“We didn’t go on a date,” Evan says sternly. I was going to say it, but
the way he seems slightly angry by that pisses me off. Yes, it’s true. But the
irritation in his eyes and the tick in his jaw makes me queasy. As if just the
thought of being on a date with me repulses him.
“Ken, I told you it was with Max,” I say to her.
“Could've fooled me. You guys have been sneaking around with this
top secret project for class,” she retorts, trying to sound casual, but Kennedy
does not do casual, so she sounds like she’s up to something. “I thought it
was about time you two banged out-”
This time I cover her mouth, doing exactly what Evan did to me as he
smirks. I swear this girl is a ray of sunshine when she’s not trying to
meddle.
“Okay,” I drag out, walking us backwards into the apartment. Evan still
stands at the open door, grinning at us.
“I don’t think Kennedy finished her sentence,” he teases. “You know, if
you wanted to tell her to be quiet, you could do that in a million different
ways.”
“Goodbye, Branson,” I say, kicking the door shut with my foot. When
he’s out of sight, I turn to Ken who’s smiling like a clown beneath my hand,
so I drop it. “You’re so annoying, sometimes, you know that?”
 “Ah, but you love me,” she says, waving me off.
“You’re still annoying.”
“No, it means that you love me.” She beams at me. “So, I take it the
date didn’t go to plan if you ended up with Evan.”
I sigh, walking into the kitchen. “It’s for the better.”
“You’re just telling yourself that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You don’t
have to be closed off with me, Scar. I pride myself on being able to read
people, but recently, you’ve been making it difficult. I want to be here for
you.”
I know I’ve been off with her and Wren, but sometimes I feel like they
won’t understand what it’s like to be in my position. They always have their
own things going on. And though I know they’d never say it, I’m sure they
would realise that my problems can’t be that big if I have money and a
decent family to solve them.
When I look at Ken who has moved away so far from her family and
doesn’t have her dad anymore after he passed away, I shouldn’t be allowed
to complain about my dad who is still technically alive. When Wren talks
about her parents and their divorce, I can’t talk about how sometimes I feel
ignored in my own family even when my parents are happily married,
which is why I've put off therapy for years. I don’t want to take up space in
a place where some people have real problems when mine can be fixed
temporarily by throwing money at it.
“I know, Ken and I’m sorry,” I say truthfully, pulling her into a hug.
She somehow always manages to smell like a beach even when she hasn’t
been to one in a while. She constantly smells like summer despite her last
name. I breathe her in. There is nothing quite like a Kennedy Wynter hug.
“I know how you can make it up to me,” she muffles into my skin. I
hum in response, recognising that slight child-like mischief in her tone.
“Miles is doing a Halloween-themed game night at his house next weekend.
It’ll be a few of the hockey guys and Evan too. You should come.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, squeezing her again. A day not thinking about my
dad and the company could be good. I need a few days to recoup and start
working on a different theory. Something about what Gio told me is still not
making sense to me.
I’m missing something.
OceanofPDF.com
 22
Evan

I think I almost died walking Scarlett home a few nights ago.

Okay, maybe not, but it felt like it. I was freezing right to the bone, my
shirt was stuck to me in every possible place, but for some reason, when I
put my hand across her face, flames erupted across my body. I really need
to sort whatever the hell that is out, especially when we’re getting
somewhere with the case.
I miscalculated time for my run again this morning, so I’m sprinting
down the hallway, my shirt untucked, tie loose and my hair a mess as I try
not to miss the meeting with Anderson and Scarlett about the project. If I’m
more than ten minutes late he’ll probably lock me out of the room. He’s
done it before, and he’ll do it again.
I somehow messed up my fitness watch and ended up sprinting half a
marathon before realising I was late for school. Again. I can't blame anyone
for this. I set the time for half an hour, but I set it at nine-thirty-seven, and it
messed up my concept of the run. It needed to end at ten-forty or else it
would irritate me that it’s not landed on an even number.
Still, Anderson wouldn’t care for my excuses, so I picked up the pace
again, finally in the same building as his office. It’s the last one on the
corridor, tucked between the business library and a lecture theatre. I get to
the brown door a few seconds before I would have been ten minutes late,
and I open it.
Scarlett’s back is to me at first, sitting in front of Mr Anderson’s desk.
She looks a lot more put together than she did the other night. Which is a
little insane considering the rain and the dim glow of the moonlight only
made her features more striking. Now, she’s wearing a black dress, half her
hair tied back with the ribbon into a bow, while the rest falls onto her
shoulders and down her back. She turns around, her brown eyes taking
survey of my messy outfit.
She snorts. “You look like shit.” I ignore her when she laughs at me and
take the seat next to hers.
“Language, Scarlett,” Anderson warns, sounding fed up with her.
“Thank you,” I say to him sweetly as she gives me a stern side glance. I
smile to myself, knowing that tiny comment got under her skin.
Anderson goes into his usual lecture, explaining how the project works
and asking us if we’re abiding by the guidelines. His office is cool in the
sense that the blinds for his windows can convert into a screen which he can
project his PowerPoint on. As he turns around, droning on about the
requirements, Scarlett scooches her chair closer to mine, her strong perfume
hitting me.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, not looking at me as she pretends
to watch Anderson’s presentation. She lowers her voice lightly, “Do you
need some weed?”
I choke on air because the question hangs between us as we’re in a
room with a teacher. He could easily get us expelled for that shit, but he
doesn’t seem to care much about his job to even bother.
Still, as he changes slides he says, “You cannot talk about drugs in my
office. I am a teacher.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes, seeming way too comfortable with the idea of us
getting kicked out. “Yeah, but are you really?” I swear this girl has a death
wish. She leans into me again as Anderson groans. She whispers, “I’m
being serious.”
“I can still hear you even if you whisper, Scarlett. We’re not even two
feet away from each other,” Anderson says. She actually laughs at that and
I’m too busy trying not to focus on her proximity to laugh with her. She
waves a hand dismissively at his back and then turns to me, a question
dancing in her eyes: Well?
“I definitely do not need any substances from you, Scarlett,” I say to
her. She turns back to Anderson, slightly slouching in her chair as she
crosses her arms across her chest, sulking.
 “Okay, jeez. It was just a question. Quit acting like you’ve got a cork
up your ass,” she mutters. I ignore her and turn back to Anderson.
“Can we please stay on topic,” I say.

* * *

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly.

We explain to Anderson how we’re planning on running the app and
when we get in touch with software developers, how we'll turn it into a
reality. He said our plan is good and that we could be coming out with a
good grade if we stick to it. It’s kind of hard to do while we’re also solving
a mystery alongside it.
After the meeting, we moved into the business library across from his
office, finally getting back to work. After such a weird morning, it feels
good to submerge myself into work that isn’t my brain. I can give myself
time to focus on something that isn’t going to send me into a spiral or lead
to a cold shower.
I thought it was working. Then I remembered that it’s Scarlett Voss I’m
working alongside.
I notice too many things about her. All the time. I’ve been picking up
on small things that she does, most of which drive me a little crazy. Like the
way she taps her pencil on the page three times when she’s thinking and
four times when she’s thinking extra hard. The way she crosses and
uncrosses her legs when she’s listening to me talk. The way she never looks
me in the eye for long enough, but how it also feels like it’s for too long.
How after four seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, she always drops her
head down to her work.
And today, even though I can tell it was probably perfect before she left
the house this morning, the bow in her hair is slipping out. We’re both
sitting next to each other at a desk facing the window, tucked into one side
of the small library. My chair is a few inches further out than hers as she
leans over the table and I lean back in my chair, giving me a fantastic view
of her hair and the loose bow.
Usually, I wouldn’t care. Okay, I would, but I could suppress my
compulsions. Today I’m already on edge with after the run this morning and
being late to the meeting. Now seeing that bow, seconds away from falling
out, it’s driving me up the wall.
Finally, I mutter, “Your ribbon is falling out.”
She pauses writing for a second. She’s right handed. I like that. It
means we can sit on the same side of the table without our elbows rubbing
together. It’s a stupid thing to pick up on, but it adds to the very long list of
things I’m starting to notice about her.
“Gee. Thanks for pointing that out,” she mutters angrily.
She drops her pencil, her bare slender arms reaching up to fiddle with
it. She messes with it for two seconds before continuing writing. It’s even
more of a mess now.
“You’ve made it worse,” I say, scratching the back of my neck.
She turns to me now — finally — and her brown eyes narrow. “Thanks
for the play-by-play, Branson. That’s really helping. Do you want to sort it
out?”
She’s willingly asking me to touch her. Well, not her, but her hair. And
her hair is fucking gorgeous. It’s long — too fucking long — dark brown,
but not black and always with a ribbon. There's no way. I must have heard
her wrong because Scarlett Voss would never invite me to touch her.
“What?” I gawk.
“Did you hear me or what? I don’t have a mirror and we’re going to
waste time if I go to the bathroom to fix it. Can you do it or is it beyond
your capabilities?” she asks, tilting her head playfully.
I don't even flinch at the insult and instead ask, “Are you sure?”
She sighs. “You know what, on second thought, that bathroom break is
looking really good,” she groans, standing up.]
Uh, no. Not happening.
I tug on her elbow, pulling her back down to me. Her eyes widen at the
sudden contact of my hand on her skin. I gently nudge her into the desk,
and she sits on the table, half of her body hanging off it as she angles
herself towards me.
I stand up, moving behind her. “Can you be quiet for two minutes?” I
ask, not touching her yet.
She shrugs and I can tell she probably rolled her eyes too. I take a deep
breath. It’s not a big deal at all. I’ve tied a hundred bows in my life after my
mom left and my dad wanted presents to look authentic. Still, this is
different. Because it’s her.
Seeing her like this, finally quiet, below me, her posture straight, has
my thoughts going straight into the gutter. I imagine how she would look on
her knees, that ribbon tied around her wrists instead of her hair.
I watch her shudder as I undo the ribbon slowly, letting it fall, while
keeping one hand in the half of the silky hair that almost melts in my hands.
I should not be allowed to touch her like this. Not when I'm getting hard
just by doing it. She takes in a sharp breath and my breathing shallows. I
finally do what she asked, gently but firmly tying the bow so it looks good
and is secure enough.
“Are you done?” she asks. She thinks I don’t notice the subtle way she
clears her throat, but I do.
“No,” I lie, fiddling with her hair because why is it so fucking soft? It’s
so tempting, yet it feels so wrong. So dirty. “Why do you always have these
in? I can’t figure you out.”
She ignores me and asks again: “Are you done?”
“Scarlett,” I press, urging her to answer my question. I tug on her hair,
the same way I did at the restaurant, but this time I angle her towards me,
her delicate face tilted up. When she looks at me, her mouth parts in a gasp,
her pupils dilated. Interesting. I release my hold on her hair and her
shoulders sag.
“What?” she bites out.
“Can you answer my question?”
She holds my stare. “I don’t need to answer anything.” She stands up
and turns fully until she’s right in front of me. I straighten, naturally
towering over her, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she raises her chin,
triumphant as if she’s realised something. “I gave you two chances to tell
me the truth, and you lied both times. I’m not an idiot, Branson. I can tell
that you just wanted your hands on me.”
In a way that she usually does, she doesn’t sound like she’s
complaining. She doesn’t sound like she’s disgusted by the idea of me
wanting to touch her. She just seems like she wants to know. Or she wants
her theories to be confirmed more like.
I give her the bait. “Then why did you let me do it?”
 “You wanted to touch me,” she says again as if that makes this make
more sense. “I was going to let it carry on. See how long it would take for
you to say something, to make you crack. And then you did. You think I
don’t know you, Ev, but I do. Especially after the other night. I can see right
through you sometimes.”
Fuck.
“Really? Then what am I thinking right now, Angel.”
“You want me,” she says. Of course, I do. I have since freshman year,
and I’ve denied it ever since. How could I not? She’s a fucking magnet. “I
don’t know why. I mean, of course, I do. I’m a catch. But why you? That’s
what I don’t get. It makes sense now. All the touches, the glances, the
helping. You want me.”
I don’t believe that she’s not affected by me for a second. So, I inch
closer to her, leaning down as our fronts are practically touching. She’s
breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as she tries to keep eye
contact with me. She does for five seconds now before dropping her gaze to
my chest.
“I don’t want you,” I lie. The last thing I need is to complicate this
when we’ve got the project and the mystery to figure out. “You drive me
insane, Scarlett.”
“Yeah, and you let me.”
She trails her long fingernail up my arm, not breaking eye contact with
me until she reaches my shoulder. My shirt isn’t thin, but it fucking feels
like it. Each inch her finger moves sets off small explosive bombs up my
arm until she gets to my neck where my pulse is hammering.
She’s enjoying this.
In some sadistic way, she’s enjoying torturing me.
When she reaches my neck, she curls her hand around the back of my
head, twisting her fingers in my hair, tugging gently. I close my eyes, taking
a second to breathe before opening them again. She’s got that sexy, lazy
smile on her lips, her cheeks a little red as she presses herself into me.
“Don’t do that, Scar,” I mutter, placing my hand on top of hers,
practically swallowing it whole as I drag it from my face.
“Tell me I’m lying, Branson,” she urges.
I cannot.
So, I divert instead.
 “Let’s get back to work,” I say, stepping away from her. When I get to
my seat, I don’t look at her. I can play along with whatever game she wants
to. I’d do just about anything she wanted me to. If she asked me to jump,
I’d ask how high.
God, I’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked me.
When we settle into a rhythm of comfortable silence, I try my best to
ignore whatever just happened between us.
Something shifted.
Either she’s playing hard to get, or she genuinely has no interest in me,
and she wants to push me until I break. Unfortunately for her, I don’t have
much self-control.
If we were ever that close again, there is no telling what I would do.

Scarlett
After Evan and I leave the library, knowing that I’ll see him again at the
game night, I realise two things.

1. I am going to need to buy more batteries for my vibrator.

2. I, almost certainly, have some sort of pathetic and emotionally
draining crush on Evan Branson.

Fuck. My. Life.

OceanofPDF.com
 23
Scarlett

I’ve been in the den of Miles’ house for almost an hour, and I already
want to leave. There aren’t that many people here, but with the amount of
noise Miles and Xavier make you could have imagined at least twenty of us
here.
Cobwebs decorate the ceilings and huge spiders lurk in the corners. The
punch bowls are a strange green and orange colour, and all the snacks are
some Halloween version of big brands. Honestly, it came together a lot
better than I thought it would.
A few guys from the hockey team are all huddled in one corner of the
room near the impromptu karaoke machine making a racket. Miles, Xavier,
and Evan are all dressed in suit and ties, deciding to be the Men in Black as
well as most of the hockey team. Their outfits are boring, but they’re men,
so who’s surprised.
Wren is wearing a green dress and wings, tying her hair up into a bun
so she can look like Tinkerbell whilst Michelle is Iridessa from the
Tinkerbell movies. I was going to match with them, but as soon as I heard
Kennedy was going rogue, I decided to be a devil instead. It’s hot and sexy
and completely opposes Evan’s stupid nickname for me.
Kennedy helped Miles with planning the quiz section of tonight, so
she’s off in the dining room meticulously planning about how tonight's
going to go. She’s dressed up as the mad hatter from Alice in Wonderland,
naturally. Despite the gory looking games, all I know is we’re going to split
into teams and compete with one another in a series of random party games.
I’m a competitive person, so this will be fun. Especially if I’m playing
against Evan.
 “We need to start drafting a team name,” Wren says around a mouthful
of pizza. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, rubbing the grease
against her skirt.
“I agree,” Michelle says, tucking her box braids that fell out back into
her bun. “We might even get points for a good name if Kennedy’s judging.”
“Wren, you’re the writer,” I say, nudging her in the shoulder. She
blushes a little, sighing. “We need something that will win Ken over.”
“What about ‘Starbucks Lovers.’ It’s the name of our group chat,”
Wren suggests.
Michelle laughs. “You mean the group chat I’m not a part of.”
“You’re in the better one. Most of our messages consist of asking where
each other are. ‘Folkwhores’ sounds better, anyway.”
“I agree,” I say, laughing at the ridiculous name Ken came up with for
our group chat with Michelle.
We all turn at the same time to the horrendous noise that’s coming from
their boyfriends.
Miles is supposed to be leading the night with the first game being beer
pong, but he seems to be engrossed in terribly singing ‘Sign of the Times.’
Wren’s watching him adoringly from beside me and Michelle watches
Xavier add in his own ad libs, both of the boys standing, swaying with each
other. Evan is sitting, shaking his head at them, but I can tell he’s laughing.
I love my friends and I love that they are happy, but there might be the
tiniest bit of me that’s a little jealous. If I could get over the first trials and
tribulations of an adult relationship, maybe I’d be just as happy as them.
I’m fine on my own most of the time. Solitude has always been my thing. I
enjoy being independent and doing things on my own. In fact, I hugely
prefer it. Still, there’s that tiny part of me that wants what they have. To
always have someone in my corner. Someone on my team who’s not going
to make me feel like less than.
I take the opportunity to slip away to the other side of the huge room
towards the pool table. I’ve always wanted to know how to play, but it’s one
of the things that my brothers failed to teach me. No matter how many
times they explained it, I still couldn’t get it.
I settle next to the empty table, my back away from the hysterical
screaming that’s known as Miles’ singing. I pick up the cue, feeling it in my
hand before settling it down, aiming it towards the white ball.
 My first shot is terrible, and I laugh at myself, feeling pathetic. I’m
about to put the cue back down, ready to walk away from something I’m
not perfect at the first time, but then I feel a heavy weight behind me,
pressing into my back.
Almost instantly I can tell it’s him.
My ass is perfectly nestled into his crotch, so I try to ease myself up
and stand straighter. His huge hands come around mine, caging me in as he
slowly runs them down my arms. The movement is so light, but I’m
wearing a red short-sleeved corset top and jeans, so each brush of his hand
feels like an inferno against my skin. He clasps his hands over mine on the
cue, his breathing steady while I can hear my heart rattling against my
ribcage.
“Evan?” My voice no longer sounds like my own. His proximity, his
smell, the conversation we had the other day about him wanting me. No
answer was an answer enough. I just have no idea how to go about it now.
“Hm?” The noise travels straight from the back of my neck where his
mouth is to the space between my legs. I can tell he needs to clear his
throat. His voice is slightly raspy and deep and just the sound sends
goosebumps across my arms. I shiver under his touch, which only causes
me to back up into him more, feeling something very big and hard beneath
my ass. I can’t tell which one of us gasps.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I could guess, but words and all coherent
thoughts are failing me right now.
“Showing you how to play, Angel,” he answers simply. Like I guessed,
his voice is low and raspy, the sound settling in my stomach. His hands
tighten over mine for a split second before relaxing, but still holding them. I
swear I can’t even see my hands now. It should be humanly impossible for
him to be able to play piano with hands that big.
Stop thinking about his hands, you perv, no matter how hot they look.
Think with your head, not your tits.
“I can figure it out on my own,” I say, my voice wavering.
He tuts. “You can’t be showing the opposition weakness already. Come
on, sweetheart. You know better than that.” I’m getting sick of these new
nicknames. This one especially. What’s worse than that is the way it lights
me up inside.
 “Why are you helping me?” I ask when he’s not even showed me how
to play yet, his hot heavy hands just hold onto mine.
“We might be playing against each other, but it would be downright
embarrassing watching you struggle for the sake of a silly competition,” he
answers, laughing a little. He’s testing me. It’s payback for what I did the
other day. It has to be. I knew it was risky touching him like that, hoping
that he’d crack. That’s the only reason he’s touching me so close now.
“For the sake of competition,” I mutter back to him, trying to get as
comfortable as I can with him this close to me.
“Now,” he instructs gently. “Can you let go of the cue for me? You’re
holding it too tight.” I take a deep breath, doing as he asks, and I let go of it,
dropping into his hands.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
I don’t even have time to process those two words and the cobwebs I
get in my stomach before he readjusts the cue in my hand, my grip looser,
my right hand closer to the tip while my other rests somewhere closer to the
top.
“Okay, now hold it like this.”
He takes a step back and I take a step back too, giving myself a second
to breathe. It doesn’t do anything to relieve the tension because I can still
feel his hands everywhere. He places his hand on my lower back while
nudging me in the back of my knee a little, urging me to lean further
forward and I do.
I like being in control. I like being the one who makes the other person
unravel, but for some reason there’s this struggle between us where,
depending on the situation, I end up being subservient to him and I actually
listen to him. Like now.
I’m leaning over the table and his body heat is all over me, his front
pressed into my back and my ass finding its way nestled into his lap again.
His gigantic, veiny hands are covering mine again, adjusting my fingers one
by one until they’re in a position he’s satisfied with.
It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It isn’t that big of a deal, but his hands
look so good. He instructs me to hit the white ball from the position it’s in,
lined up next to the other balls. I hit it and his hands never leave mine.
I watch the balls rattle against each other, and I can’t tell if what I did
was good or not. The rules of this really mess me up and he’s giving no
indication if what I’m doing is even right.
Until his hands leave mine and they suddenly feel empty. The sensation
is instantly eased by the weight of his hands on my shoulders instead and I
stand up straighter. I’m so caught up with lust and his proximity that I don’t
even have the energy to tell him to stop. He gently massages my shoulder,
not speaking for a few beats until he leans his head closer to my neck, his
hot breath setting my body on fire.
“That was a good shot, sweetheart,” he whispers into my neck. For a
second I thought he was about to kiss me there or something, but he didn't,
his lips only a few inches away from my neck. “You’re doing such a good
job.”
I don’t say anything. He pushes into me again, slightly urging me to go
further so I can aim better, and I do, his bodyweight still behind me and his
hands return back to their position over my hands.
I’m sure he’s talking to me now, but all I can hear is the steady beat of
my heart gradually getting faster. I swear to God, I hope he can’t hear my
heart beating right now.

Evan
I want to breathe her in.
No.
I want to only breathe the air that she’s breathing. Just be hers and hers
only. God, I’d give her all of me if she gave me the chance. I can feel her
pulse racing all throughout her body, beating against my hands, against her
neck and the way her back arches into mine slightly as she takes in deep
breaths.
It can’t just be me that wants this. I had to get her back for teasing me
the way she did the other day, knowing that it drove me up the wall. Still,
I’m trying to see how far it would take her to finally do something to ease
the sexual tension between us.
I let my body weight fall onto her slightly, loving the feel of the way
her hands flinch beneath mine. God, they’re fucking tiny compared to mine.
I don’t get a second to instruct her further before her friend’s voice makes
her flinch.
 “Hey, Scar,” Kennedy calls. “We’re getting into teams now.”
Scarlett clears her throat. “Okay, I’ll be there in a sec,” she replies. She
turns back to me slowly, trying to twist out my grip but I keep her there.
She sits halfway on the end of the pool table as I tower over her, setting my
hands on both sides of her. She crosses her arms against her chest. It’s the
first time I’ve really seen her face since I came over here and it’s redder
than I thought it would be. She never blushes and now her face is a deep
red. Some girls get embarrassed if they blush a lot, when she does it, I think
it’s hot.
“Do you always get this close to the girls you teach pool?”
I know this is a trap, but I don’t care anymore. “No,” I say. “Just you.”
She smiles, holding her hand to her chest, feigning surprise. “Awh. Am
I that special, Branson?”
“You’d be extraordinary, Scarlett,” I admit, leaning further into her. She
leans back a little, her eyes flickering to my lips and then back to my eyes.
“If your ego wasn’t so big.”
She snorts. “I am extraordinary, Branson. Hearing you say that shit only
makes me realise that I’m even more amazing.”
I shake my head at her. “Only you would take an insult as a
compliment.”
“Because it’s not an insult,” she says, pouting slightly. She’s cockier
than half the guys I know. I just wish it wasn’t so fucking attractive.
I take a step back from her. “You’re ridiculous.”
“No,” she says, sighing as she jumps off the pool table, the horns on her
head bobbing. “You’re ridiculous.”
Then she walks past me, shoving her shoulder into mine on purpose. I
turn and watch her walk away, her ass swaying side to side as she greets
Wren, Kennedy, and Michelle in one corner.
She’s going to ruin my life. And I think I’m going to let her.

* * *

We play beer pong first. I’m on a team with Miles and Xavier against
Wren, Kennedy, and Scarlett. We’ve been drawing up until this point. I’m
competitive at any game. If it involves Scarlett, I want to win. I don’t go
easy on her just because she’s got a pretty face. I play to win, no matter
what.
The last shot is down to Miles.
If he gets it in, we win and if he misses we lose. Xavier stands behind
him, rubbing on his shoulders as if he’s about to run a marathon. I give the
basic advice, telling him to focus and stay calm so we can win this round.
The cups are covered in fake cobwebs, the ball with tiny black spiders’
hand-drawn across it.
It doesn’t help that he’s a lovesick puppy and his girlfriend is on the
other side of the table, purposefully stretching her hands above her head so
she can distract him.
Miles is an idiot, so he gets distracted easily.
“Wren’s cheating!” he shouts at his girlfriend. She laughs, dropping her
arms. Scarlett watches Miles carefully, probably trying to psych him out
with her intense staring.
“I’m not,” she replies defensively. “You’re just a sore loser, baby.”
“You’re trying to trick me by calling me ‘baby,’” he shouts back,
sulking. “You know it’s my weakness.”
I groan at their constant bickering and all the girls laugh. Wren says,
“I’m not doing anything,” while slowly shimmying off the wings to her
costume, dropping it to the ground.
“Look at me like that one more time and I swear to god-”
“Just throw the damn ball, Davis,” I say, nudging him.
He throws it finally. It’s like watching it in slow motion. The split
second before the ball leaves his hand, Wren winks at him. From that, I can
tell the shot is going to be a miss. Still, I watch it play out. The ball bounces
on the table once. Then twice. Then again and it rolls right off the table. The
second it drops to the ground the girls all jump in unison, cheering loudly.
I watch the sly smirk on Scarlett’s lips, and she turns to me. As they’re
laughing, they make their way over to our side of the table. Wren goes up to
Miles, laughing hysterically in his face and he takes it, letting her make fun
of him.
“Are you done?” he asks her. She shakes her head, still laughing before
he grabs her face and kisses her deeply, silencing her laughter.
“Very weird reaction for someone who just lost,” I mutter. Scarlett’s
beside me now, leaning against the wall as she watches them make out
before diverting her eyes to the ground.
“I don’t think he could ever lose if it came to her. Losing a game
against Wren is just like winning to him,” she replies, a short laugh
escaping her mouth.
“Doesn’t it get sickening?” I ask. She looks up at me, not
understanding. “I mean being around them all the time, they’re constantly
making out. Doesn’t it annoy you?”
She shrugs and then sighs deeply. “No,” she says simply. I hum in
response. “I’d much prefer this…” She gestures to the Wren who is now
sitting on the table, her legs wrapped around Miles’ waist as they make out.
“Than pure silence.”
I laugh at that. “You’d prefer anything over silence. You talk too
much.”
“I know.” She smiles at me for a second before dropping it and walking
away.

* * *

We stay in the same teams for most of the night. I play against Scarlett
at pool, and I actually go easy on her. She was struggling and after our
impromptu lesson, she’s not exactly an expert.
I sit out on playing charades because it’s always such an awkward game
when your teammates are shouting at you, so I don’t participate. The only
time I play on her team is when we play a very butchered game of True
American, which just ends with us getting buzzed from shot gunning too
many beers.
Now, we’re ready for the final game of the night; trivia. Kennedy is the
host for this one, leaving me on a team with Xavier and Miles against
Scarlett, Wren, and Michelle. We beat the two other teams, so we’re in the
final heat.
Our team won the sports round and the horror movie round while the
girl’s team won the true crime knowledge and the song round. I think it’s
rigged because most of the questions were relating to pop culture or inside
jokes, which gave them an unfair advantage. There’s one round left and it’s
a history round about NU.
 Kennedy is standing on a makeshift podium (it’s a cardboard box with
two bricks beneath it and an easel stand she stole from school) shuffling the
index cards in her hand. It’s mostly quiet in here now as the teams that lost
have now branched off into other parts of the house. To her left, me and the
boys are sitting on plastic chairs while on the right the girls are sitting, each
of them glaring at us.
“Can each team please select a candidate to represent your team in the
final round,” she instructs. “In the meantime, I’ll play some elevator
music.” She turns on her phone and instead of playing elevator music, she
plays ‘High Enough’ by K.Flay adding to the already tense atmosphere.
I turn to my team and they’re already staring at me. I roll my eyes.
“You can’t be serious,” I mutter.
“Come on. It’s history stuff. Miles and I won’t be any good,” Xavier
says.
“He’s right,” Miles adds. “If we know anything we’ll give you a hint.
It’ll be subtle. If you’re smart enough, you’ll figure it out.”
“Fine. You owe me for this,” I say, brushing off my jeans as I stand up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Scarlett mutters and that’s when I see
that she’s standing too, the nominee from her team. I beam at her, not giving
her the satisfaction of thinking she’ll throw off my game just because I’m
going against her.
Kennedy turns down her music. “Perfect,” she says, looking at the two
of us. “So, I just decided on a new prize for the team captains. The loser has
to ask the winner out on a date.”
Both of our teams laugh at us, and I just blink back at Ken, hoping
she’s going to take back what she just said. She doesn’t. Scarlett rubs at her
temples.
“That makes no sense,” she retorts.
“It’s my quiz night and my rules,” Kennedy argues.
“So, it’s a lose-lose situation. Regardless of who wins, I’ll have to go
on a date with him.” Wren giggles from the other side of her. Scarlett shoots
her a look and she tries to tamp down her smile.
I lean into Scar and whisper, “Don’t think of it as a date, sweetheart.
We can do our casual detective stuff.”
She pulls away from me, turning so we’re facing each other. “I’m not
going anywhere else with you.”
 “You won’t be saying that when I’m done with you,” I murmur, intent
on changing the way she feels about me. She’s got to give up this ‘I hate
Evan’ game at some point. Her nostrils flare as she crosses her arms
akimbo.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
I don’t say anything because Kennedy has stepped down from her little
podium as she gently pushes us apart to our respective sides of the easel.
She writes our team names on each side of the sheet; the Folkwhores and
Nacho Average Team. Guess who came up with our team’s name.
And why did you guess Miles?
The rules are simple: Kennedy will ask a question, you have five
seconds to answer, the first one to write it down on the board wins and if
you don’t write anything in five seconds, the other team gets the point.
“Folkwhores, are you ready?” Kennedy asks Scarlett. She pins me with
a glare, opening her pen with a pop, not letting her eyes leave mine.
Kennedy turns to me. “Nacho Average Team, are you ready?”
I nod and the game begins. The first two rounds are easy. The first
question is about how many sports NU covers and the closest answer wins.
I guess eight and Scarlett guessed seven. I got the point.
The second question is about who the Dean before Ms Hackerly was,
Wren’s mom, took over. Scarlett had an advantage on that one, so she won,
leaving us to draw.
“How many years has Ryan Redmond been at NU?” she asks, and I
smirk. I went to the same middle school as Ryan, and he was a few grades
older. I was confused as to how he was still at NU by the time I started.
Hell, he’s still here now.
I write down my answer quickly, my handwriting barely eligible as
Scarlett pauses. “Seven and a half,” I say for extra emphasis.
“A point to N.A.T. Well done, Branson,” Kennedy coos and I smile.
Scarlett sticks her tongue out at me. “Okay. We only have two more
questions left. If Scarlett gets this one right, you’ll be in for a draw, making
the last question the tiebreaker. If Evan wins this question, there will be no
chance at victory for the Folkwhores.”
We both nod, getting ready in game position. She licks her lips, and it
distracts me for a second. I need to win this round. I want her to be the one
who has to ask me out. Not the other way around.
 “Taylor Swift released a new album a few days ago. How many songs
are on the track list?” Kennedy asks.
“That’s an unfair question. It’s not even related to NU,” I blurt out as
Scarlett starts writing. I give up. There’s no way I’d be able to get that quick
enough without thinking about it for a minute.
“Thirteen!” Scarlett screams and her team cheer for her, including
Kennedy. I knew having her as the judge would be a conflict of interest.
Scarlett holds up two of her fingers in an L shape. “How does it feel to lose,
loser?”
“We’re drawing, dumbass,” I retort. Still, she’s smiling, waiting for
Kennedy to ask the tie-breaking question. She did that on purpose. She
wanted Scarlett to win, and she knew I would never get the answer. The
rules for this game are very loose.
“The million-dollar question,” Kennedy begins dramatically. If I win,
she'll have to ask me on a date. If she wins, I’ll have to ask her on a date.
“Now, the mascot for North is a bear. What was it before?”
Everything happens in slow motion again.
As the words leave Kennedy’s mouth, I hear the faint sound of
meowing coming from the boys. Then I remember what they said about
helping me out discreetly if the question came up. They must be doing it on
purpose to trip Scarlett up. She looks over at them, forgetting the strict time
limit, smirking as she thinks she’s got the right answer and I use the
opportunity to write ‘dog’ on the sheet.
“And time!” Kennedy shouts. “Please step away from your board.” We
do as she asks, each of us taking a step back. I can’t help but grin at the
proud look on Scarlett’s face, the way she’s standing tall, her head held
high. “So, we have opposing answers here. Folkwhores believe it was a cat
while the Nacho Averagers believe it’s a dog. I’m delighted to announce
that the correct answer is…” There’s a dramatic pause of silence. Scarlett’s
eyes zone in on me and she still wears that victorious smirk on her face.
God, I can't wait for it to wipe right off. “A dog. Congratulations, Nacho
Average Team. You have won tonight’s trivia.”
The boys get up from their seats cheering as the girl’s sulk in their
seats. I’m about to step down to join them, but Scarlett barrels past
Kennedy and straight into me. She almost trips in the process, her foot
getting caught on the cardboard. I grab onto her arm.
 “Careful, sweetheart,” I whisper, laughing. She drags her arm away
from mine and instead jabs her index finger in my chest.
“You’re such a…fuckwaffle!” She digs her finger into my chest harder,
her chest rising and falling. Seeing her pissed off is my absolute favourite
thing.
“What the hell is a fuckwaffle?” I ask, laughing. She stands there,
opening and closing her mouth and fucking hell, watching those round pink
lips open and close like that is driving me crazy.
She blinks at me. “I- You- That’s what you are.”
“A fuckwaffle?" I ask curiously. She nods. “You think I’m a waffle you
want to fuck?”
“That is not what I said,” she challenges. Her face is almost entirely red
now.
I tilt my head, grinning as I ask, “But it’s what you meant, no?”
“Shut your pie hole,” is all she can come up with.
“Make me.”
She steps closer to me, and everyone is still watching. She takes me by
my loose tie, tightening it before pulling it until my face is right in front of
her. Her breathing pattern changes, as she wets her bottom lip before
looking at me. She pushes herself against my chest, stepping between my
feet. She’s basically strangling me with this tie, but if she’s going to kiss me
right now, it’ll be worth it.
What would she do if I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers? If I
kissed that smug smirk right off her face. If pressed myself closer to her and
she could feel how fucking hard I am by just being near her. What would
she do then?
She tugs on my tie again. “If you think I’m about to kiss you right now,
Branson, you've got another thing coming. Because what I really want to do
is rip your balls from your body, shove them in a blender and make you
drink it."
I swallow. Hard.
“Stop thinking about my balls, you perv,” I say.
She doesn’t laugh and my joke was pretty funny. Instead, she tugs onto
my tie harder, almost causing me to choke.
“Brilliant but scary,” I mutter. I think she catches the Harry Potter
reference because she almost smiles. She lets go of my tie, but she tries to
turn away from me, so I grab her elbow, pulling her right back into me
where she belongs. “Hey, loser. I think you’re forgetting something.”
She crosses her arms against her chest. “I’m not asking you out.”
“Don’t worry,” Kennedy says, reaching into her back pocket as she
pulls out a handwritten note, handing it to Scarlett. She winks at me. “I’ve
got you covered.”
Scarlett scans the sheet, frowning. “Ken. You pre-wrote this? You knew
he was going to win, didn’t you?”
She shrugs innocently. “I had a feeling.” Kennedy is such a meddler. I
guess that’s why they love her so much unless she’s meddling in their
business.
“Our names are literally written on the sheet,” Scarlett groans, flapping
the white paper around. She looks up to me as she scoffs, “Can you believe
this?”
“No, Angel, I can’t. You’re going to have to read it out to me,” I say,
trying to hide my laugh.
“Read it,” Kennedy urges. It takes three seconds before the room all
erupt in chants, telling Scar to read it out loud. I’m standing, waiting for her
with the biggest smile on my face. “Okay! Quiet, everyone.”
Scarlett looks at me now, sighing as she pushes her hair behind her
shoulder. She starts to read. “‘I, Scarlett Evangeline Voss, have the absolute
pleasure of asking you, Evan No-Middle-Name Branson, out on a date.”
She continues reading before glancing at Kennedy who’s beaming like a
proud parent. “I’m not doing that.”
“You’ve got to do what it says,” Kennedy explains. I try to take a peek
at the sheet, but she holds it away from me.
“I’m not holding his hand,” she murmurs.
“You’re holding my hand,” I correct for her, prying her steel fingers off
the sheet. She’s absolutely hating this, and I love it. My cheeks hurt from
smiling too much.
She groans. “I promise to not complain and be a good date,” she reads
before adding, “I'm not making that promise, but fine.” Kennedy frowns.
Scarlett rolls her eyes before she continues reading. “I solemnly swear that I
will go on this date within the next two to five business days and will not
bail unless there are unforeseen circumstances that will result in my failure
to attend.” She rushes the last bit of the sentence before looking back up at
me. “So, will you, Evan Branson, the winner of this quiz, go on a date with
me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I coo.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, ready to repeat her words back to her. I
reach out and flick her headband with the horns on it. “You’re ridiculous.”
I don't think either of us even realise we’re still holding hands.

OceanofPDF.com
 24
Evan

“We really don’t have to do this,” she says, turning to me in the back of
my Escalade.
“Oh, but we do,” I tease. I open my door as she sulks, rounding the car
to open the door for her. “You promised me a date so that’s exactly what
we’re doing, sweetheart.”
She steps out, her Louboutin heels tapping out onto the pavement. I
reach my hand out to her, but she ignores it. She’s going to make today hell
and I can’t wait until she gives in. I’m bringing her to a new art showing at
Origin Hall in Colorado. I’ve never been, and I’ve seen the art pieces
around her apartment that aren’t Kennedy’s. I noticed the way she paused
for a second when we were walking from the business building to the
parking lot and there was a painting from one of the first students at NU in
the art department.
I know she’s going to enjoy it. She might have insisted on going on
different flights to get here (I took my private plane, and she took hers), but
I’m determined to make her smile.
“Couldn’t we have just lied to them? We didn’t have to actually go on a
date,” she whines as we walk up the stone steps to the museum entrance.
It’s a large grey building that resembles a huge brick with small cut out
windows. It’s supposed to be one of the best up and coming museums in
Denver.
“What would be the fun in that?” I ask. She looks up at me, pinning
with me with a look as if to say ‘Are you serious’ and I grin back at her.
“Come on. The contract said you had to be a good date and you’re not
being a very good one right now.”
“I’m being as pleasant as I can be considering you’re my date,” she
mutters as she pushes open the large door.
Immediately, we’re met with silence. I’ve come to enough museums
and galleries to know that they’re sacred places for collectors and people
who love art. People in uniforms work silently, cleaning down surfaces. The
only noise I can hear is my heavy breathing and the click of Scarlett’s heels.
She’s wearing a striped navy pantsuit with a very short crop white top
underneath as she leaves her blazer open, allowing me to see lots of her
exposed, smooth, tanned skin. Her hair isn't tied up today, instead it falls
halfway down her back, but I can still spot the blue ribbon tied to her wrist.
I think she keeps it there in case of emergencies. The same way I
spontaneously bought a back of hair ties because I know it irritates her to
have her hair down from the way she was fighting herself with it in the
restaurant.
Maybe I didn’t think this one through because I am also here with the
most talkative person on the planet. I don’t know how she’s planning to deal
with the silence in here. It’s like taking a kid to a library.
As if she’s reading my mind she murmurs, “I don’t think I can do this.”
I turn to her. She’s pulled her lips between her teeth, her cheeks a faint
glow of red. She’s not wearing any makeup today, she usually doesn't, but
today her freckles are even more prominent on the bridge of her nose. Fuck,
she looks cute. The way she’s trying to stop herself from talking or laughing
– or both – is just fucking adorable.
“You can do it, Scar. I believe in you,” I whisper, winking.
“No. I don’t think I can,” she says, shaking her head. Hard. “I’m good
at a lot of things, Branson, but not talking isn’t one of them.”
“Come on,” I say, urging her to walk further in since we’re still in the
lobby. “The art’s going to be so fantastic that you won’t even need to talk.”
“I doubt it,” she mutters, dragging her feet as we walk down into a
large room. This space is dedicated to all oil paintings made by an artist
called Arnold Luc. Most of them are captivating pieces of boats and scenes
at sea. It’s pretty, but not my kind of thing.
My kind of art is the woman standing in front of the painting.
 I knew she would shut up as soon as we got to some of the paintings.
Her head is tilted slightly as she bends down to read the plaque beneath the
painting. The one she’s looking at is a scene of viscous waves, looking like
a scene from the movie ‘The Little Mermaid.’ She shoves her hands into
her pockets, taking her time to read and appreciate. She’s not saying
anything and there’s one else in here, so she could.
Even I can’t take the quiet, so I say the first thing that comes to mind.
“I’ve never been on a proper date before,” I admit. As embarrassing as
it is to admit, it’s true. I’ve never had to plan anything to take another girl
out. Even though Cat and I dated for a few years, we never went anywhere
romantic or planned things to class as a date. Most of the times we hung out
was spontaneous and we didn’t do much talking. Towards the end of our
relationship, it was filled with a lot more uncomfortable silences than
anything else.
Scarlett turns around slowly, her hands still in her pocket. I get a very
good view of her tanned and toned stomach. No sign of the tattoo though.
She has a smirk on her lips, ready to torment me.
“You’re telling me you and your rich girlfriend never went on dates?”
she asks. I can’t tell if she’s trying to make fun of me or if she’s genuinely
curious. I shrug.
“We did. Just not like this,” I reply.
“Is that why you wanted to come here?”
“That’s one of the reasons,” I say, shrugging again. “She wasn’t really
the going out type or the kind to like PDA. We were public but private.”
She nods, stepping in closer to me, studying me. Her gaze could come
off to others as scrutinising, but I can tell that the bolts in her head are
working overtime trying to figure me out, so I let her. “Do you like PDA?”
she asks.
“I don’t hate it,” I say truthfully. She nods, smiling slightly, and then
walks past me. Of course, I follow her into the next room.
This one not only has large paintings on the walls, cased in gold
frames, but it also has small sculptures inside glass boxes. Most of the
paintings are abstract, unable to tell whether they’re people, places, or
objects. They just exist on the page and they’re magnificent. The small
sculptures are mostly nude crafts of torsos and breasts.
 She’s quiet again as we walk around the room slowly. She’s capable of
more than she lets on. As much as she likes to brag about how amazing she
is, she is extraordinary. She told me she wouldn’t be able to be quiet and
she’s managing it perfectly. For once, we’re not arguing. We’re not giving
each other dirty looks. We’re just existing, enjoying art and each other’s
company. Well, I hope she’s enjoying my company. It’s hard to tell if she’s
in her own world or not.
She stops still in front of a painting towards the end of the room near
the door. It’s a painting clearly with many layers, shades of orange, brown,
blue, purple, and black lathered over each other in no particular fashion.
She stands, hands in her pockets again, her ankles crossed as she reads the
plaque over and over.

‘Germiane Eckbert b. 1803. You are home, 1829. Acrylic on canvas.’

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“It is,” I say, staring at her and only her.
The paintings in here are gorgeous, sure. They took years of perfecting.
Months of making sure each stroke was made to perfection. Weeks of
staring at a blank canvas to create something so beautiful. With her, she
only gets more and more beautiful over time. God only had one try and she
made her perfect in every way that counts.
She stares at the painting while I look at her side profile, watching her
truly take it in. She’s still staring, so I don’t even realise that she’s moved
her hand, settling it right into mine.
Her small hand clasps over mine, squeezing it gently, not looking at
me. Her warmth and her touch are like something I’ve never experienced
before. It’s so soft yet anchoring, like it could keep me alive. It has that
underlying strength like it could move mountains while also bringing about
a strong sense of calm and tranquillity. It just feels safe.
When I’m with her, I'm not worrying about what could happen
tomorrow. I’m not thinking about stupid compulsions that tell me if I don’t
do something by a certain time I'm going to die. I just exist. And she exists
with me. Together but separate.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, hoping she can’t feel how hard my
pulse is hammering.
 She sighs. “Don’t make this weird.”
I ignore her. “Why are you holding my hand, sweetheart?”
“Because it’s upsetting that you’ve never been on a date before. You
might piss me off, but you've been more bearable than usual and the fact
that you’ve never been able to experience the fine art of handholding is just
downright sad,” she explains smoothly.
“Since when do my feelings matter to you?”
“They don’t.”
I groan, throwing my head back. “This thing that you’re doing, Scarlett,
it isn’t cute anymore. Cut it out. We’re not doing this. Got it?”
The second things start going somewhere, she says shit like that. It
doesn’t usually piss me off. Most of the time I hope she’s joking, but it gets
to a point where I can’t tell anymore. She can tease me all she wants. She
can tell me how much I annoy her just by breathing and I’ll take it. But I
thought that something shifted the other day when we spoke. When she told
me that she knew I wanted her.
She turns to me now, her eyebrows scrunched together. She seems a
little taken aback from my sudden seriousness. “Doing what?”
“This,” I say, gesturing between us. I try to keep my cool. We’re in a
goddamn museum for God’s sake. “You hating me. Pretending you don’t
care about my feelings. What is so bad about me, Scarlett, huh? Tell me.
Tell me what you don’t like about me because I’m going insane trying to
figure it – you – out.”
She drops her hand from mine now and it feels empty, like a piece of
my heart has been ripped out. “Stop acting like you don’t know, Branson.”
“Scarlett, sweetheart. Tell. Me,” I warn, needing an answer.
She scoffs. “Why are you getting so serious about this?”
“Because it is serious,” I retort, my voice slightly climbing up. I sigh,
walking to the other side of the room where a white bench rests against a
wall. I sit down, running my hands through my hair as I hear her heels click
until she’s sitting beside me. “Angel, I can’t do this. I really can’t. I can’t
have you hating me every day. I can’t have you looking at me like I disgust
you.”
“You don’t disgust me,” she whispers. I take my hands out of my face
and turn to her.
 “Then tell me. Tell me what I’ve done wrong so I can fix it,” I press,
rubbing at my temples. She blinks at me. “I don’t want to keep going on
like this. Jesus, I just want to be your friend.”
“You want us to be friends?”
“Hasn’t that been obvious?” I ask exasperatedly. She shakes her head a
little, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “At the very least I want us
to have a conversation where we’re not screaming at each other. It’s
exhausting.”
“It is?”
“Yes. Now tell me what I’ve done wrong.”
Scarlett sighs, pushing her back against the wall, tilting her head up to
the ceiling. I can’t tell if she's trying to blink back tears or if she’s trying to
compose herself. She opens her mouth multiple times before closing it
again. I could wait for her all day if she’s finally going to tell me what I did
so we can move on from this weird stage in our lives.
“You said that I would never amount to anything,” she says finally. Her
words sound like a punch to the stomach. I’d much prefer that than the
words that come out of her mouth, knowing that it was me who said them.
“That I’d never be more than a stupid girl in her brother’s shadow.” She
turns to me now, her eyes filled with angry and upset tears. “And I already
knew that, Evan. I’ve known that since the day I opened my eyes. I thought
starting NU would be a fresh start and it wasn’t. What you said to me felt
worse than all the years at high school. So, I resented you for it and it led
me to trying to one-up you in every class game and you played right along.
I thought you hated me too and kept going. I know, it’s stupid and pathetic,
but at first, it felt better than letting you get under my skin, so I made it a
mission to get under yours.”
This is definitely worse than a punch to the gut. Hell, it’s worse than a
punch to my crotch. What hurts more than hearing the strangled sob in the
back of her throat is that what she’s saying is what I said to her.
Those first few days at NU were hell for me. I was bitter and miserable
because my dad had cut me off. I had to move in with the boys. I had lost
my girlfriend, and I was embarrassed for embarrassing my family and
myself in the process. I should never have said those things to her. I knew
that I remembered her from our childhood, but she didn’t seem to recognise
me. I forced myself to erase it from my memory as soon as I started to get
better, and I must have forgotten about it. But she didn’t.
“I’m so sorry, Scarlett,” I say. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was in a bad
place, and I was just projecting it onto you. I know that’s not an excuse, but
Jesus…I’m sorry.”
I lean my head back against the wall, scrubbing my hands across my
face.
“It’s fine. It was stupid. I don’t let those things get to me, so I don’t
know why I kept it up for so long,” she replies, and I turn my head back
down to look at her. Tears are rolling down her face now, slowly. I don’t
think she even notices. “I should have let it go.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t want her to cry. Jesus. I’ve hurt
this girl too much already. If she cries right now, I won’t be able to handle
it. If it was someone else making her cry like the day I walked her home,
I’d want to beat them up. I’d beat them bloody until they apologised to her.
But it was me. I did this to her. “I was cruel to you. You’re allowed to feel
things. It doesn’t mean you have to downplay your feelings because it took
time to get over it.”
A sharp sob rips through her and she shoves her face into her hands. I
don’t know what to do. She wouldn’t want me to see her cry. I don’t want to
see her cry.
I inch closer to her, trying my best to comfort her by my proximity.
“Shit. Uh…Don’t- Don’t cry, Scar. I really can’t have you crying on me
right now.”
She pulls her hands from her face, slamming her small fists into her lap.
How in the world is she able to look so pretty when she cries? I almost want
to smile at her for it, but she doesn’t need my teasing right now.
“Then don’t say those things!”
“Say what things?”
“That I’m allowed to feel things because then I just feel more…things,”
she sobs again as she desperately tries to push her hair out of her face, but it
continues to stick to her forehead. Why the fuck is her hair so long?
“Come here,” I mutter. Another sob rips out of her in response. Before
she can say anything with actual words, I turn her around, scoop her closer
to me and pull her hair out of her face, tying it back with the hair tie on my
wrist. I secure it tightly in a low ponytail and she doesn’t put up a fight.
“Better?”
She sniffles, moving out of my grip to sit beside me. I still keep my arm
around her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “You just happen to have hair
ties on you now, Branson?”
I swallow. “You hate it when your hair is down.”
“That didn’t answer my question,” she replies. I shrug. She relaxes after
a few seconds, settling into my chest. “Why can’t you just be mean to me
like you were at that time?”
I laugh quietly. “I don’t want to be mean to you. I never meant to be
cruel. But as you started to play those games with me, I played along. I’d do
anything you asked me to, you know that?”
“Why?” she asks, almost frustrated. She’s not crying as hard now, thank
God.
“Because I don’t hate you. I’d never want to make you feel like I did
that time. If you want to hate me and make fun of me, I can play along with
you, but none of it is real.”
“Then what’s real?”
“What you said the other day,” I admit, swallowing. Her eyes widen. “I
do want you, but you don’t. You’re not going to forgive me overnight and I
can live like that. Like you said, you prefer sleeping with nameless dudes
and a quick fuck. We’d probably kill each other.”
“Evan,” she presses, blinking up at me.
“Scar, spare me,” I say, laughing. “It’s fine. I should be the one
comforting you even though your snot is covering my shirt.”
She punches me in the stomach, trying to move out of my grip, but I
keep my arm around her shoulder, needing her close. “It is not! I’m not
asking you to do any of this.”
“That’s the whole point,” I say, chuckling. She shakes her head at me
but she’s smiling, her face still red. God, I want to kiss her so bad right now.
What would she do if I did? She’d probably punch me in the stomach. She
knows that I like her, and she can do with that information whatever she
wants. When she’s ready to have that conversation, I’ll be here.
I’ll wait.
Honestly, I’d probably wait forever for her.
OceanofPDF.com
 25
Scarlett

I did not have ‘Crying in front of Evan Branson’ written on my 2022

bingo card and I’m a little terrified. Not only did I hold his hand because I
felt bad for him, I cried in front of him, he held me and he told me what I
had been expecting. What’s worse is that I enjoyed having him hold me. His
weight is new and comforting and those hands…
I never would have been vulnerable with him like that, but I was
emotional as it was, I was trying my best to ignore what’s been going on
with my family and he was there with his kind words and less dickish
personality. I’m a simple girl, I cry when people say nice things to me.
Knowing that he might have actual feelings for me worries me a little.
Relationships aren’t my thing. They never have been, and they never will
be. I’m still navigating my feelings towards him, just as a human, let alone
romantically.
He’s a good-looking guy.
Okay. He’s more than good looking. He’s fucking gorgeous. He’s been
on the cover of B&Co website and magazine for God’s sake. His jawline is
sharp, he has a dimple that appears every once and a while, his eyes are so
fucking green it’s scary. But what’s more attractive is his vulnerability and
his honesty. I’ve never met a guy as in tune with their emotions as him. If
he’s upset, you know. If he’s angry, you know. If he’s uncomfortable or
needs something to squash his compulsions, you know. He doesn’t hide
things from me, and I appreciate that.
After our new truce was established, I even took his plane back to Salt
Lake with him. We didn’t speak for much of the plane journey. It was still a
bit awkward. There was only one large TV on his plane so we ended up
arguing over who could choose the movie. We landed on ‘Dunkirk.’ I only
wanted to watch it for Harry Styles, and he was obsessed with the Second
World War when he was in high school. Weirdly enough, I didn’t make fun
of him for it. We just sat and watched the movie in silence. He did glance
over at me every time Harry appeared on the screen though.
The new friendship thing we’ve established is the only reason I’m
calling him right now. My mom suggested an impromptu dinner at home
with all my siblings, excluding Alexander. She made it very clear that I
needed a date. She even added in some very Oscar-worthy sniffles and
insisted that it is ‘what my dad would have wanted’ as if he’s gone already.
After visiting him this morning, confirming that he’s still stable, I’m getting
ready in my room, waiting for Evan to pick up the call.
“Hello?” he asks when it finally connects.
“You took your time,” I mumble.
“I was busy.”
“Well, I was hoping you weren't. I need a date to come with me to my
family dinner. My mom made it very clear that she wanted to meet someone
I’m seeing, and I don’t have the energy to scour through dating apps to find
someone not serial killery to bring. So, I was thinking you could come, but
if you're busy, it’s fine,” I say in one go, rambling like a fool.
“Oh, so you cry to me one time and now you think you’re entitled to
favours?”
“Fine, I’ll call someone else,” I drawl.
“What time do you want me there?”
“I thought you were busy?”
“I’m not anymore,” he says easily. “What time, Scar?”
“I’ll send you the address. Meet me outside the estate in an hour. Don’t
knock and wait till I get there,” I instruct. “And wear something
appropriate.”
“Obviously. I’m not an idiot, Angel. I’m about to have dinner with five
millionaires.”
“Four millionaires,” I correct. “My mom just hit a billion, so you better
tell her that and you’ll be on her good side.” I’m only bending the truth a
little, so he’ll be on his best behaviour. Not much would take my mom to
like someone. Especially since she thinks it’s someone I'm ‘dating.’ She’d
be thrilled whoever it is.
“Yes, boss,” he replies. “I’ll see you there.”

* * *

Exactly an hour later, I’m standing outside the huge doors watching
Evan’s escalade pull up into the driveway. I don’t know why I’m nervous.
Maybe it’s because I don’t usually bring my dates here and my mom is
expecting some respected gentleman who will sweep me off my feet and
help me settle down. Evan is not that person. Still, I know he can put on a
good show when necessary.
I adjust my black dress for the hundredth time, trying to pull it down
my thighs as I watch him climb out of the car. It’s not as tight as the ones I
usually wear, but it shows off a little cleavage and cuts off halfway down
my thighs. My hair is tied into a low ponytail, a few flyaways at the front
and my black bow in the back.
I look and I feel hot as fuck.
Evan smiles at me when he sees me, holding a bouquet of roses in his
hand. God, he’s such a cliche. Luckily, my mom loves roses. He’s wearing a
tailored navy suit and a white shirt. He’s also wearing a tie to match, but it’s
not tied properly. He looks annoyingly good.
“You look lovely, Miss Voss,” he drawls when he gets to me, even
bowing for extra effect. He holds the roses in one hand, his other shoved
inside his pocket, standing tall.
“And you look like you’re trying too hard,” I say, grabbing onto his
lapels to pull him into me. He stumbles a little but manages to regain his
balance as he opens his arms a little to give me better access to his tie. My
hands are shaking, but I do my best to fiddle with it, tightening it so it looks
presentable. I can feel his eyes on me as I keep mine strained on his tie and
chest. I can tell that he’s not looking at my face. When I’m done, I tap the
space between my eyes and say, “My eyes are up here, you perv.”
He snaps his eyes to me, and I swear he blushes. It’s hard to tell. It’s
freezing outside, so it could be because of the cold. Still, I smile to myself,
knowing that in one way or another, my proximity affects him; possibly as
much as his affects me.
 He plucks a flower from the bouquet and hands it to me. “Uh, thanks.”
“I asked for a dozen, and they gave me thirteen. I think they wanted it
to be an extra one, but it just pissed me off. Uneven numbers and all,” he
explains, avoiding my eyes.
“Thirteen is supposed to be a lucky number,” I say, retrieving the
flower. He shoves his hand back in his pocket, fidgeting with the seam of
his trousers.
“Says who?”
“Taylor Swift,” I respond, grinning. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head.
I turn around to open the door and he follows behind me.
I stop for a second, taking a moment to breathe and Evan holds onto my
elbow. His touch is featherlight. I almost miss it, but then he tugs on it
harder, making me turn towards him.
“Are we supposed to hold hands and kiss and all that?” he asks, his
voice quiet as he subtly scans the foyer.
“You’re my date, not my boyfriend. There’s a difference.”
“So, I can’t hold your hand?”
I roll my eyes. “If you want to so badly,” I say, holding out my palm to
him. He looks at it and shakes his head. He’s nervous. That’s fine, but I
don’t like the way it’s making me feel like I should be nervous too. I can
handle my brothers and my mom. They’re nice people when you get to
know them. I haven’t told Evan anything about them so he’s just going to
have to find out.
“What?” I ask, shaking my hand at him.
“No. I don’t want to do it if you don’t want to,” he whispers almost
angrily.
“Ev,” I warn, watching the way his face softens and his shoulders sag at
the use of the nickname. “Stop making this weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. I’m just-” I cut him off by dragging his hand that isn’t holding
the flowers, slipping it around my waist. His heavy hand rests on my hip
and he grips it tight. I gasp at the force of him. He releases his grip gently,
tugging me into his side a little.
“Better?” I ask, looking up at him as he stares down the hallway.
He clears his throat. “I guess.”
 It takes us a few seconds to get comfortable with his hand on me like
that as we walk down the hallway. By the time I’ve finally settled into his
touch, I’m pulled out of it. My brother pulls on the back of my ponytail, and
I yelp as he drags me out of Evan’s arms, and I turn to face him.
“You’re such a dick,” I say when he faces me. Leo’s got his signature
Voss smile on, grinning at me. He’s not dressed appropriately for dinner, but
he doesn’t seem to care. He’s wearing sweats and an old grey shirt, his dark
brown hair a mess like always. “You could at least get dressed. We have a
guest.”
He shrugs, turning to Evan. “How much did she pay you to come
here?”
“Oh my god, shut up,” I say, groaning as I link my arm through Evan’s.
He seems a little starstruck. Still nervous. “This is Leo. One of the twins.
He and Arthur are identical, but you won't get them mixed up, trust me.
Their personalities are a dead giveaway.”
Evan nods, holding out his hand to my brother. “I’m Evan. It’s nice to
meet you.”
Leo smirks before grabbing his hand. He glances at me as if this is the
most unnatural meeting in the world and I give him a tight smile.
“Pleasure,” Leo says before turning to me. “Everyone’s ready to eat and
Hen’s looking for you.”
“Great,” I say, holding tighter onto Evan’s gigantic bicep and twisting
us around to walk towards the dining room. “And Leo, please take a shower
before sitting at the table. You smell like weed.”
Evan snorts and Leo laughs from behind me. “So, that isn’t your
youngest brother?” Evan asks. I shake my head, chuckling.
“Where would you get that idea from?” I ask sarcastically just as we
stop outside the door that leads into the dining hall. Henry is sitting on the
floor, his back pressed against the wall, his legs spread open in front of him,
a pack of Swedish Fish resting between them. He’s wearing a black tux, but
he still looks put together. “That’s my youngest older brother.”
Henry’s head pops up now and he smiles wide. “Mia sorella Scarlatta,”
he gets out between a mouthful of sweets. I can’t help but smile back at
him. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’m here now,” I say, detangling my arm from Evan’s so I can help my
brother up. He leaves the packet on the ground, wobbling as he stands,
brushing off his trousers. “This is my date.” I turn and gesture to Evan and
he holds out his hand to Hen.
“Evan,” he introduces. Henry takes his hand and shakes it. “It’s nice to
meet you. Henry, right?”
Henry nods. “Evan?” He turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t we
hate him?”
“I used to hate him,” I say, chuckling. Henry’s about to get me into
some real trouble tonight. “It turns out he’s not that bad.”
“L'hai scopato? Is that why we’re suddenly best friends with someone
we didn’t like two days ago?” Henry asks. I know he’s trying to be
protective but it’s not helping. The last thing we need is my brother
suggesting that we’re sleeping together right in front of him. Good job he
doesn’t speak Italian.
“No, non l'ho scopato io, stronzo. Non ancora,” I reply, muttering the
last part as I paint my face into a smile to not arouse suspicion. Henry
shrugs, not believing me. “You ready to go in?” I ask Evan.
Henry interrupts, whispering, “That’s why I was trying to find you.
Arthur’s giving mom a lecture about dad’s care. He thinks that they should
stop life support.”
My stomach bottoms out. Evan catches me as I stumble back a little at
his words. It’s been months now since my dad’s been in the coma and
we’ve still not figured out how or why. He’s going to pull through. He has
to. Arthur’s been a dick since Alex left for London and he’s been trying to
fill in this pathetic role as the CEO of Voss even though he’ll never be.
“That’s bullshit,” I mutter, brushing past both of the boys to storm into
the large dining hall. A long, oversized mahogany table sits in the middle,
ten chairs spread around it. On one side, a large window opens into the
backyard: a large field containing a miniature golf course. “What the fuck is
wrong with you? Do you not care about our dad?”
My mom and Arthur are sitting at opposite ends of the large table. I’m
looking directly at my older brother, his brown hair tied back in a short
ponytail. His face is hard and focused, his mouth pressed into a straight
line. My mom stands up out of her chair, her arms wide as she tries to trap
me in a hug, but I dodge her.
“Have you not got anything to say?” I ask Arthur.
 “Scarlett,” he chides before adding calmly, “Don’t cause a scene.” He’s
not even looking at me anymore. His eyes are focused on the black
placemats, his hand clasped around a cold glass of wine. “We’ll talk about
this another time. Preferably when guests aren’t present.”
Evan shifts beside me, still holding the flowers. For a second, I forgot
that he was there. That I invited him. I hate that he had to see me like that.
What I hate more is the way my mom’s face lights up when she sees him. I
don’t know how I’m going to let her down easily when I tell her we’re not
actually dating.
“Oh, Scarlett,” my mom exclaims dreamily. “You really brought
someone.”
I sigh, trying to push back all my feelings and anger towards Arthur. I
link my arm into Evan’s again. “These are for you, Mrs. Voss,” he says,
handing her the flowers. I don’t know where mine went. I think I lost it on
the way from the door to here. I’d be a terrible girlfriend. He places his
hand over mine. It calms me for a second, remembering that when this is
over, I can relax. “I heard the big news. Congratulations on your new
milestone.”
“Oh, you are lovely. And these are lovely,” my mom says, fussing over
the flowers. Evan smiles proudly, puffing his chest out. Of course, he’d be
perfect at the boyfriend thing because I’m terrible at it. “And thank you. I’ll
put these in water. You two can take a seat.” She walks off through the
swinging door into the kitchen, shouting Leo to come back down.
As we make our way over to the table, ignoring eye contact with
Arthur, Evan tugs on my arm. Luckily, there’s faint jazz music playing in
the room so no one can hear him as he whispers, “What did your brother
say before?”
“Oh, nothing. He was just asking when we started dating. Don’t worry.
I made a believable lie,” I say, lying straight through my teeth. He hums in
response, pulling out a chair for me. He takes the seat closest to Arthur and
I take the one next to him. Henry comes stumbling into the room, sitting
across from me.
I try to tell myself to breathe. To remember that everything is fine. To
stay in the present moment and remember that whatever happens, I’m going
to get through this alive. Even if I want to commit murder just by looking at
my brother.
 Evan’s hand on my thigh is not helping this either. I don’t know when
he put it there, but it feels comfortable. Everything about him just feels too
damn comfortable. Too safe. I try not to look at his hand, but it’s so veiny,
huge, and just right. Why do his hands have to be so fucking attractive?
He leans into me as he squeezes my thigh. My skin is already sensitive
there, but coming from him, my whole body feels slightly overstimulated.
“Hey, can you relax for me? You’re making me sweat and no one’s even
talking to me,” he whispers.
“This is worse for me than it is for you. Trust me,” I mutter. I shift
slightly in my chair, slouching a little as I lean my head back, allowing
myself to breathe properly. Evan’s hand starts to rub circles on my inner
thigh and my breathing picks up again. Great. “Can you stop doing that?” I
breathe.
“Doing what?” he asks innocently. He even leans his other hand on the
table, staring at the jug of water, all while still rubbing his thumb over the
sensitive spot on my thigh. “It’s helping, no?”
“No, you’re making it worse, and you know you are so cut it out,” I
warn. He stops, finally and places both of his hands in his lap. I sigh,
pulling my dress further down. Arthur scrutinises me from beside Evan and
I roll my eyes. “What?”
“Why are you wearing that?” he asks, looking at my outfit.
“Wearing what? A dress?”
“It’s too short.”
I bark out a laugh. “Do you think I would wear this if I cared what you
thought?” I turn away from him and I can see Evan sticking his tongue in
his mouth, trying not to laugh. Arthur ignores and sticks a thumb at Evan.
“Who’s this?”
Evan clears his throat. He doesn’t seem intimidated. Good because he
shouldn’t be. Arthur is not scary at all. Alexander is scary. Arthur’s just
trying to fill in that role since he left and he’s doing a fucking terrible job at
it. “Evan Branson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I may have left out his last name for several reasons. One reason being
the reactions I get from everyone at the table. Henry snorts. Leo smiles,
nodding as if he somehow knew all along. My mom grins, a little confused,
but prouder. Arthur…looks like he’s about to set the world on fire and is
deciding where to start first.
 I sit up straighter, matching Evan’s confident stance.
“You brought a fucking Branson here? What are you doing, Scarlett?”
“I’m doing what I want,” I say, picking up a napkin from the table,
trying my best for my hands not to tremble as I lay it on my lap. “Now, he’s
my date, so can everyone play nice for one night?”

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 26
Evan

I knew family dinners were tense, but Jesus. The Voss’ are full of
emotional outbursts and petty comments. I tried to help her relax by
keeping my hand on her thigh. I’ve watched enough movies and read
enough books to know that pulling that kind of stunt is either supposed to
turn a girl on or drive her insane. Or, in Scarlett’s case, both.
The small glances she gives me each time I squeeze her thigh make my
chest bloom with pride. The way she stands up for herself against her
brother is probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m fully convinced that
pretending to date Scarlett for one night might be the best thing to ever
happen to me.
We eat the lasagne Scarlett’s mom made mostly in silence as small talk
gets dragged out by long chews or generous gulps. I don’t usually enjoy
talking about myself, especially when I’m nervous, but I can’t mess this up
for her. So, when her mom asks me what I study at NU, I feel like I can’t
stop talking.
Scarlett cuts off my rambling, finally. “Loves to talk, this one,” she
says, laughing lightly. Everyone on the table laughs too. Apart from Arthur
– he just glares at me.
“Ah, not as much as you,” I say back, and she gives me a fake smile.
“So, Evan,” Henry starts whilst he’s in the middle of eating some garlic
bread. His mom swats him at the back of his head for talking with his
mouth full. He swallows before speaking next. “Do you speak any
languages?”
 “Uh, French and a little Italian,” I lie. I had a tutor growing up who
taught me how to speak fluent Italian. I only picked up a little French after
countless trips there. Henry’s eyes light up.
“Only a little, huh?” Henry asks and I know he’s got me figured out.
This must be where Scarlett gets it from. She looks at me curiously,
probably not realising what she’s about to find out. “Come va?”
“Bene e te?” I reply. Henry replies back in Italian, telling me that he’s
doing okay. Scarlett rests her head in her hand now, looking at me seriously.
I smirk at her and she shakes her head a little, as if silently asking me what
I’m doing.
“Cosa ne pensi dei cavoletti di Bruxelles?” her mom asks me, wanting
to know how her brussel sprouts tasted. “Erano a norma per te?”
“Sì, erano perfetti,” I say. Smiling as I whisper, “Proprio come tua
figlia.”
Scarlett’s mom claps her hands together happily. “Ah, I see you learnt
all the good stuff.”
I nod, grinning. I turn to Scarlett. Her cheeks are a little pink now,
which is hard to tell if it was from the wine she’s had or if she’s blushing.
I know what her brother asked her earlier and I know what she said. I
just wanted her to admit that she said what she did.
“Did you fuck him?” he had asked earlier. “No, I didn’t fuck him,
asshole. Not yet, anyway,” she replied. She can’t hide from this as much as
she tries to.
“Sei fluente, vero?” she asks me.
“Sì, tesoro, lo sono,” I admit, unable to stop the smile exploding across
my face as her mouth hangs open.
“You little shit. You knew what Henry said earlier, didn’t you?”
I lean into her and whisper, “Every word.”

Scarlett
The rest of the meal went smoothly. Well, as smoothly as it could with
my brothers there. We even make it to dessert. Until Leo asks Evan about
how B&Co is doing, no doubt to cause drama. Evan answers the questions
with ease, telling my brothers exactly what they want to hear. Their sales
are doing fine and they’re picking up more now as it’s getting closer to the
holidays. My mom eats it all up, but Arthur can’t stop himself.
“Your little rebellious phase isn’t cute anymore,” he spits at me.
“Who said I’m trying to rebel or act cute?” I ask confidently, keeping
my posture straight, looking and acting picture-perfect as I take a sip of my
wine. He’s trying to get to me, and I won’t let him.
“What are you trying to prove?” he asks, sounding genuinely
concerned.
“God, give it a rest,” Henry mutters. Evan’s trying to act like he can’t
hear, probably not wanting to get involved in a sibling argument. I would be
surprised if he had even a molecule of understanding what it’s like to grow
up with four older brothers, him being an only child and all.
“No, because she’s acting out like a desperate whore who could have a
decent man in her life, but instead chooses him,” he argues. My mom gasps,
but she doesn’t say anything.
I don’t even flinch.
Evan does. He bangs his hand on the table. Everyone turns to look at
him. I’ve never seen him look this upset before. No. Not upset. This is pure
rage.
I watch as he forces his breathing to settle – a technique I’ve noticed
too many times not to pick up on it.
“I know I’m a guest here and I knew you were not going to be happy
with my presence. By all means, call me every name under the sun because
of who my family are, but do not talk to her like that. Indirectly or not, you
should never call your sister what you just did. You’re a fucking animal.
Pardon my language, but it’s true. You’re supposed to be protecting her
from guys like yourself. Scarlett can date who she wants to, and it really
shouldn’t matter who their family is, especially when your family isn’t
perfect either,” he shouts. I blink up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s
looking at my mom, his eyes stormy. “I’m sorry for raising my voice, Mrs
Voss. La cena è stata deliziosa.”
His hands are balled into fists on the table. I place my hand gently over
his and they are fucking scorching. I push out my chair, trying to pry open
his fist so I can slip my hand into it. He finally lets me and I squeeze his
hand.
 “Evan and I would like to be excused.”
I drag us from the table and he almost trips over his chair. I don’t know
what I’m doing, but I can’t sit at that table with them for any longer. He
follows behind me and I take him into my old bedroom to cool off.
My room is one of the biggest in the house; one of the limited perks for
being the only girl beside my mom. It’s still painted the same pale blue
colour I asked for when I was younger, a beige canopy bed pushed against
one wall, huge pillars surrounding it.
Evan has been awfully quiet since his outburst at the table, and I don’t
know what to say. He’s subtly looking around the room and when his eyes
find mine, he drops them to his shoes. I turn away from him, walking
towards the pillar of my bed, playing with the tassels. For the millionth time
today, I contemplate why I’m nervous.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I whisper quietly. “But thank you.” Am I
really thanking Evan Branson right now? Apparently. I turn around, trying
to lean causally on the pillar. His hands are in his pockets, his chest
heaving.
Is he mad at me?
“Do they talk to you like that all the time?” he asks, grinding his jaw
together.
I shrug. “Sometimes. It’s only Arthur since Alex left. He’s just trying to
play the role of the big older brother, but it’s really just annoying as fuck,” I
say with a weak chuckle.
“God, Scarlett,” he mutters angrily. He runs his hand down his face,
sighing. “And what do you say back?”
“Nothing.”
“So, you don’t talk back to them, but you want to argue with me any
chance you get?” he asks, his eyes squinting.
“It’s different with you. You’re an only child, so you don’t get it. You
can act how you want around me, and I can’t hold that against you because
you don’t owe me anything,” I explain.
He nods. “And how do I act around you?” he asks, slowly walking
towards me. His chest is so close to mine now, I have to tilt my head up
slightly to look at him, those piercing green eyes staring straight into mine.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “You hate me most of the time or you act
like you hate everyone else but me other times. I thought I had you figured
out, but now… It’s confusing.”
His face is so close to mine. A breath away. He gently angles his head
down, so it moves to the side of my face, his breath hot on my neck. What
the hell is happening and why don’t I want it to stop?
His hand drops onto the pillar behind me, just above my head and he
places his other hand on my hip, squeezing me gently. I try to swallow, but
my mouth goes dry. It feels like his heavy hand could burn straight through
my clothes.
“Is this confusing you?”
“Yes.”
“And this?” he rasps. My body registers it before my brain does as he
presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss onto my neck where my pulse beats
rapidly. His mouth barely grazes the surface and I still get chills
everywhere.
Evan’s touch is like something I’ve never experienced before. It’s not
like anyone else's. It’s overwhelming, calming, yet powerfully seductive.
It’s just his.

♫ Call Out My Name - The Weeknd

“Ev,” I plead breathlessly, not sure what for. My voice catches as his
breath hovers over my exposed neck, my stomach somersaulting.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“What are you doing?”
He inhales, his nose brushing against my neck as he murmurs, “You
smell so fucking good, and I want it all over me.”
I try to relax, but it’s really fucking difficult. My chest is rising and
falling rapidly, the space between us no longer existing as our bodies press
together. His hand is still on my hip, his thumb slowly caressing my hip
bone.
“I can, um, find the perfume I’m wearing if you don’t mind smelling
like a Voss,” I joke.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he says into my skin.
“Then what do you mean?”
He brings both of his hands to each side of my face. His grip is firm as
his long fingers snake into the back of my hair, pulling it tightly to turn my
head up to him as he crowds over me. He runs his thumb under each side of
my face, slowly caressing my cheeks. He runs his thumb across my lip and
my knees go weak. Immediately, my mouth parts in a desperate gasp.
“Don’t play coy with me, Angel,” he warns.
“Me? Playing coy? How dare you assume that I-”
He slips his pad of his thumb into my talking mouth, and I almost fall
apart as he tips my head back, looking down at me. I’ve never enjoyed this
kind of intimacy before – the way he looks at me with fire in his eyes, the
power he has over my body. I should not be enjoying it, especially because
it’s Evan’s hands that are invading my face. He pins me against the pillar
with his hips and I can feel him through his trousers.
“See how much I like it when you’re quiet?” he rasps. “Can’t talk now,
can you, Scar?”
A strange whimper comes from the back of my throat, and I disguise it
by biting on his thumb. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he
withdraws his finger and strokes it under my eye. My chest is heaving now,
my eyes silently begging him for something. He’s tripped me up and I need
to regain control, but I just can’t.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His strong hands pull my
head forward and he leans down so we’re eye level, our noses basically
touching. I’m frozen with lust as his breath moves over the base of my
throat and he actually kisses me there.
Once.
Twice.
I’ve broken him.
Officially.
This is it. This is what I wanted right? I just didn’t expect to enjoy it
either.
“Pretty, sweet, Scarlett.”
“I’m not,” I seethe, instantly getting defensive.
“Not what, pretty girl?”
“Sweet.”
“You are on the inside,” he says, still kissing my neck. I can’t ask him
to stop. Hell, I don’t think I want to. My hands fumble for something to
hold onto and I settle on holding onto his lapels, keeping him close to me.
My neck is so sensitive to his touch, and it feels like my whole body lights
up at the sensation.
“And what about on the outside,” I ask breathlessly.
“Fucking lethal.”
I've never cared much for words of affirmation, but there’s something
about the way Evan says it that turns me inside out. He says it like it’s true.
I try to turn my head to catch his lips but he’s just a breath away, not
touching me just yet. He's teasing me. Making me work for it. It was even
up until now. Until one of us makes the final move.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I ask out of impatience, my voice
sounding old and scratchy.
“Maybe,” he whispers, brushing his cheek against mine and inhaling
my scent. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“What do you mean ‘maybe?’ It’s either yes or no, Branson. Because I
can find someone else to do it if you’re going to keep-”
He stops my rambling with a firm grip on both sides of my face,
forcing me to look directly into his green eyes. We're both staring at each
other, breathing heavily, the energy between us crackling like fireworks.
There’s something about him that lights me up on the inside, making
me feel like I’m somehow refracting light through every opening of my
body.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
My mouth parts in exasperation before he captures my lips with his in a
strong battle of dominance. My eyes widen in surprise as I register that his
lips are on mine. Evan Branson's perfect, hot, wet lips are on mine, and I
don't care. In fact, I encourage it.
He tips my head back to deepen the kiss as his tongue runs across the
entrance of my mouth, teasing and retreating while I melt into his touch. It's
a frustrating feeling, but it makes me want it even more. I pull on the hair at
the back of his head and he groans happily in response. So, he likes it when
I touch his hair. Good to know. Because this definitely won’t be happening
again.
Kissing Evan is like seeing the end, but being happy that you spent this
moment with him. There is no easy way to say this - kissing Evan feels like
fucking. Kissing Evan might be the only thing keeping me sane right now.
 My back is probably going to be bruised from pressing into the pillar as
his hips pin me to it I’m desperate for him. Desperate for more. All I want
is him. His mouth. His hands. Is this a selfish and greedy thing to want? His
hands are strong and certain, like he knows what he wants. Which is a good
thing because I fucking don’t.
The kiss is all tongue, whimpers, and strangled moans. It’s everything.
“Scarlett,” he whispers against my mouth. For a second, I don't think
he's going to follow it up with anything as he keeps his lips pressed against
mine. He's just saying my name as if he needs to believe it. As if he's trying
to convince himself that it's me that he's kissing. “I can't- It's just...You.”
My thoughts come to a stop when his hand drops from my face,
stretches across my chest before dipping down over the material of my
dress where my nipples are hard. He pinches me and I moan into his mouth.
I fucking moan. And because my bedroom is huge, it echoes on the walls.
It snaps us both back to reality as he sighs while he breaks away from
me, leaving my chest heaving as I blink up at him. I open my mouth to
speak, hoping to say something – anything – as I take in his smug face, but
no words come. I press my fingers to my swollen lips, my hands practically
shaking.
“Desserts ready,” Henry calls with a flourish as he raps on the open
bedroom door.
I would smile at him and thank him, but he saunters off while I stare at
Evan. His pupils are dilated, and his eyes search my face, watching the
arousal and heat across my face and neck.
“What was that?” I ask when I can remember to form coherent
sentences.
“Nothing,” he replies, fixing the cuffs of his shirt.
“What the fuck does that mean? Your tongue was just inside my
mouth,” I say, searching his face for something, but coming up empty. He
chuckles again, running his hands over my shoulders as if he's trying to
straighten me out.
“I mean that was nothing compared to what I would do if your family
wasn’t one floor below us,” he whispers as if that makes more sense.
“What? That doesn’t even-”
“I do have a thought though,” he says, cutting me off, looking at me
thoughtfully as if he didn’t just try and fuck me with his tongue. He brushes
a strand of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. He tilts my chin
up and I swallow as he turns my face towards the large mirror on the wall
across from us. “Look at you. So undone. So messy. I want to know if you
look exactly like this after you come.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he looks at me for a second as
my face floods with heat for the millionth time and he smirks to himself,
knowing what his proximity does to me. He steps back. He takes another
step. Then another, still staring at me before turning on his heels and
walking out of my room.

OceanofPDF.com
 27
Scarlett

Evan’s acting weird. Okay, maybe I’m acting weird too. I could deal if
one of us was freaking out, but now both of us are, it’s driving me mad. I’m
trying to keep calm. I kiss dudes all the time. It’s what I do. But with
Evan… That’s something different. The way he made me feel was not what
I’m used to.
Kennedy is in her meddling era, meaning that she’s doing just about
anything to make me spend more time with Evan than necessary. She
doesn’t know about the kiss, but for some reason I’m convinced she’s
telepathically been able to figure me out. After our very awkward goodbye
after the kiss, he practically bolted out of my house, and I haven’t seen him
since then.
That was three days ago.
Now, I’m sitting on an air mattress between Wren, Miles, and Kennedy
on top of a tarp outside while we watch a show on the makeshift projector
Miles bought for their backyard.
Kennedy planned yet another hang out session and Miles has been
dying to try out the projector that Wren got him for his birthday. Xavier is
sitting in front of us, lying on his stomach and Evan is next to him, off in
the corner like a little hermit.
Why is he avoiding me like a fucking disease as if he isn’t the one that
kissed me? Okay, maybe I had sort-of, kinda, definitely asked for it, but
still. He shouldn’t be the one who’s embarrassed. It was a moment of
weakness. We were in my room, he was wearing that fucking suit, looking
angry and sexy at the same time, while I just looked like my usual gorgeous
self. The amount of angry and sexual tension running through us finally
burst into flames. It was bound to happen.
It was the best kiss of my life. That is what pisses me off the most. He
shouldn’t be allowed to make me feel like that. He shouldn't make me feel
like I want more of him. So much fucking more.
I can still taste him. I can still feel him.
I should be the one that’s embarrassed. Especially after the dirty dream
I had about him last night. That kiss has been all I’ve thought about for the
last three nights. All I could imagine was him on top of me, his weight
pressing into me, calling me a good girl, his face buried between my legs as
I panted his name. I had to fuck myself with a toy to relieve the tension. I
hate that I did that. Especially while thinking about him.
“How was your date?” Kennedy asks as the last episode of Brooklyn
Nine-Nine transitions into a new one. She’s at it again. Great. The date.
Right. I almost forgot. It feels like everything that happened before that kiss
doesn’t even exist anymore. As if he completely brought me alive from just
one touch.
“Great,” I say.
“Terrible,” he says. He turns around then, and I glare at him. “I thought
we were-”
“It was fine,” I amend, cutting him off. Kennedy nods, throwing
popcorn into her mouth. I know she’s not going to let me live it down.
Telling either of them about the kiss would only prove their points and I am
still so unsure as to what I want. All I know for certain is that I want to
touch him again, in whatever way.
I need to feel him, and I need him to feel me.

Evan
I’ve not slept in three days.
Kissing Scarlett was a bad fucking idea. Not because it was a bad kiss.
Not because of everything that’s going on with her family and my family’s
pressure, but the fact that I enjoyed it so much that I want more. And more.
And more.
 My dad has been texting me non-stop, and calling me since then, asking
for more updates. I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell him. I’ve started
to get real feelings for this girl and she’s still unsure whether or not to trust
her uncle or the Gerard dude. My money is still on her dad and Gio being
involved in it. Sure, Gerard is sketchy, but what real motives would he have
to want to take down Voss?
I couldn’t focus on that anyway. Not after feeling her body pressed
against mine. The noises she made when I touched her. How responsive she
was to every light brush of my mouth on her neck, my fingers in her hair,
my hand over her breast, pinching her nipple, the way my cock swelled at
the moan that left her mouth.
I’ve spent the last few days thinking about her and only her and it’s
been absolute torture. It’s a problem, I know. But it’s not like my other
obsessions or compulsions. This is something more.
She could have regretted it. She could have run to the bathroom,
scrubbed her mouth clean to get rid of the taste of me. For someone who
likes to run her mouth all the time, she doesn’t exactly talk much about her
feelings and it's driving me fucking crazy.
I try not to look at her while we watch the show, but it’s hard not to.
Everyone’s wearing comfortable clothes today and seeing her in those
baggy sweatpants, a crop top, her hair tied into a messy bun is not helping
the thousands of thoughts running through my brain.
I steal glances at her while she watches the sitcom, snuggled between
her friends. Her face is a little red and I can tell she’s forcing herself not to
look at me. She’s twisting the ribbon around her wrists. Maybe she’s
nervous too.
God, I hope she’s nervous too. It’ll make me feel better about this.

* * *

I’m actually so engrossed in the show that I don’t notice that it starts to
rain. Hard. We’re covered by a plastic sheet on top of the waterproof
gazebo, but the rain picks up and the roof starts to dip.
Miles jumps out of his seat, screaming expletives and Wren laughs at
him as we all stand up, starting to pack things away. Most of the food was
finished anyway, so I shove it into a plastic bag.
 “Shit,” Miles groans. “I only planned on getting one thing wet tonight
and it wasn’t my PlayStation.”
Everyone laughs at his joke as he rushes to get his wires and other
equipment that we weaved through the kitchen window. Kennedy and
Xavier rush out after him, their hands full of whatever they could pick up.
A roar of thunder and another downpour of rain shakes the gazebo as Wren
picks up the blankets, almost tripping over as she runs inside.
“Everyone with devices, go in first,” Miles shouts, his voice almost
drowning out in the rain. “Can you guys take down the gazebo? My mom
will kill me if it gets ruined and beat down by the rain.”
“Sure,” Scarlett grumbles. I turn and it’s just us two now, staring at
each other. She rolls her eyes at me before walking through the gazebo.
“You do that one. I’ll do this one.”
I move to the outside of it, instantly getting drenched with rain as I
fumble to unpeg it. Why are we constantly getting caught in storms? The
universe must be playing tricks on us. It’s hard to sort out the gazebo when
the rain is making everything slippery and I’m already on edge as it is.
I’m still detangling the first peg when Scarlett comes around to my
side. “You’re doing it wrong,” she chides.
“Do you want to do it, Angel?” I ask, looking up at her while the rain
streams down my face like tears.
She rolls her eyes before bending down, slightly pushing me to the side
as she unhooks it with ease. As she moves to the other one, I start packing
up the other sticks into the bag they came in. She finishes it in a few
seconds, and we silently work together to fold it up and shove it back into
the bag.
sling the bag over my shoulder, running across the grass to the
backdoor. I’m careful up the steps, glancing back at Scarlett making sure
she doesn’t fall. I sigh when she gets to me unscathed, and I jiggle the
handle. It’s locked. Of course, it’s locked because God likes to test us more
and more every day.
I turn to her and she’s staring up at me, her eyes wide from a step below
me. “It’s locked,” I tell her.
“This is your house too. Don’t you have a key?” she asks. I check my
pockets and come up empty. I never use the backdoor anyways. She sighs,
turning her back to me as she sits down on the step. “Of course, you don’t
have a key.”
“Of course, it’s your friend that’s probably behind the reason we’re
locked out here,” I say. Kennedy is sneaky. She has been since the day I met
her, subtly trying to push me and Scarlett together. I pull out my phone to
call Miles and it goes straight to voicemail. The same with Xavier.
“She becomes a Swiftie and suddenly she thinks she’s a mastermind,”
she mutters. I have no idea what that means.
She looks up at me then, the rain soaking her face as she pulls her knees
to her chest. I take a seat next to her, throwing the bag onto the ground. She
rests her head on her arms across the top of her knees. She whispers, “We’re
messing everything up, Branson.”

♫ The Beautiful Dream - George Ezra

Apart from when she cried in the museum, this is the most vulnerable
I’ve ever seen her since then. She looks tired. Exhausted, actually. As if
keeping this game is as tiring as it is for me.
“What do you mean?”
She groans. “I mean you’re distracting me. You’re making me forget
about what’s important. My family. I don’t want this to complicate things.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Scarlett has always
held her cards close to her chest. She’s never tried to let me in, but
something has shifted between us. I want us to have better communication.
To actually tell each other how we feel. We wasted so many days denying
and ignoring it. I want it to keep going. To see how this plays out. I want
her to fight me. To fight with me. I want anything she’s willing to give me
at this point.
“So, you’re admitting there’s a ‘this?’” She turns to me.
“I’m admitting there’s a something,” she replies, rolling her eyes as if
the thought is stupid. I’m full-on grinning now. God only knows how badly
I want this girl. “Neither of us are stupid. There’s been sexual tension
between us for years. We tried to ignore it, but…God, you’ve been making
it really fucking difficult recently.”
I watch her take a survey of my outfit. My white cotton shirt is sticking
to my chest. My hair is flopping in my forehead, heavy and wet with rain.
 “Only you would try and blame me for finding me attractive,” I say,
pushing a hand through my hair for extra emphasis. She groans, flickering
her eyes to mine, studying me.
She barks out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Branson. That’s
why I don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I ask, tilting my head.
“That I want to slap you as much as I want to make out with you,” she
admits. Her admission shocks me a little and I blink at her. She doesn’t
seem embarrassed about what she wants. Sometimes, when we’re alone I
think she puts all of her trust right into the palm of my hand, silently
begging me to believe her.
“You can do whatever you want to me, Scarlett.”
“That’s a little terrifying,” she laughs.
“You’re a little terrifying,” I mutter.
She fists my shirt, pulling me into her and she crashes her mouth to
mine. Is this a dream? I’m kissing Scarlett Voss in the rain and she’s kissing
me back.
Her lips are so soft and careful at first, as if she’s testing how it feels. I
let her take her time, waiting until she’s comfortable until she gives me
everything.
Her tongue slips into my warm mouth and I groan happily, loving the
taste of her. She tastes like that feeling you get when you just fall asleep.
Just peace. Only she’s not peace. She’s a fucking hurricane and she knows
it.
I need more of her, and I don’t know how to get it. My hands find their
way in her hair, pulling and twisting as most of her hair falls out of her bun.
As I do, she smiles against my mouth.
She fucking smiles.
I try to get closer to her, try to get anything she’ll give me, but it’s hard
to do. Her hands have now found their way in my hair as she tugs onto it
greedily. I let her. It's hard to move when we’re just angrily, hornily, sweetly
kissing each other. It’s a confusing combination. Everything about her feels
so soft, she looks like a fucking daydream, but she makes me feel like I’m
on fire.
“Jesus,” she mutters into my mouth. “It shouldn’t feel this good.”
 “But it does,” I reply, kissing her deeply until all my thoughts become
her.
Her.
Her.
Her.
Finally, I push back slightly onto the step, my back digging into the
stone and she uses the opportunity to climb into my lap. She sits on me
perfectly, our bodies practically moulding together.
I run my hands up and down her back, loving the way her body sags
against mine, her tits pressing into my chest. My head lolls back as she
kisses and sucks on my neck. I’ve not been this close to another girl in
months and it’s fucking up my insides. She bites me softly and when I
groan with pleasure, she bites me again. Harder.
“Fuck, Angel,” I say, basically whimpering. Then she bites me again as
she starts to kiss across the base of my throat.
"You good? Sounds like you want me to stop," she murmurs, her voice
low and so insanely sexy.
"No," I breathe out and she rolls her hips against me again. "Don't
fucking stop."
Then I realise it.
As I’m hard as a fucking rock in my jeans when her lips start to travel
down my neck and my hands move down to her ass, I realise that I don’t
just want her sometimes. I want her all the time.
I want her to angrily kiss me like this whenever she wants. I don’t want
to keep lying to her about why we became closer. Why I wanted to help her.
Even if it started to become more than just helping my family, I want her to
know the truth.
“Listen,” I say. Instantly groaning as she grinds herself against my
crotch. That feels too good. Too much. If I’m not careful, I could finish like
this. She starts to move across my jaw, one of her hands holding the other
side of my face, carefully like she’s trying not to break me. “I have
something I need to tell you.”
“Right now?” she asks, rolling over me again and I hiss. “I’m kinda
busy.”
“Yeah, but-”
 I’m interrupted by the loud buzzing of her phone against my hand in
her back pocket. I pull it out for her, and it’s covered in rain splashes. I hand
it to her, and she rolls her eyes at the contact.
“It’s Gio,” she explains. She tries to climb off me, but I wrap my arms
around her back, keeping her close to me. Needing her close. She swipes
the call button and answers it, holding it against her ear. “Gio. Cosa sta
succedendo?”
She asks him what’s going on, but it’s hard to hear what he’s saying
over the sound of the rain. She mumbles something back to him, her eyes
widening with terror. My grip tightens on her back, trying to comfort her
although I’m not sure what for. After a few seconds, she ends the call,
standing up off me and heads towards the door banging on it.
“Kennedy, I swear to God, you better open this fucking door right
now,” she shouts. I flinch at her biting tone. I stand up, turning to her, I
place my hand on the small of her back. “We need to go,” she whispers.
“Like, now.”
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask.
“Gio said we need to meet him downtown. He thinks he’s got
something tying someone to Tinzin,” she explains.
“Shouldn’t we go to the police? What if it’s dangerous?”
“Evan, he’s my uncle. If he says he needs me, I’m going to be there,”
she challenges.
“Okay,” I say, nodding. She looks at me curiously, trying to make sure
I’m okay with this. If anything happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.
“Okay,” I say again.

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 28
Evan

We rushed from Miles' house to Scarlett’s apartment, the rain still crashing
down onto the asphalt. When we get to her Bellezza Nera, she fumbles for
her car keys, and I rush over to her side of the car. Her hands are shaking,
her outfit is completely soaked, and her hair has fallen out completely of the
bun it was in a few hours ago.

♫ California - Lana Del Rey

I place my hand over her shaking hands. “Scar,” I press, and she looks
up at me. God, I want to kiss her again. Her eyes are huge, a little
frightened, but there’s still that look of — as she describes it — something.
“I’m going to drive, okay?”
She nods once. Twice. She swallows before opening her hand and
letting me retrieve the key. “Just don’t crash my car.”
“I’m going to keep you safe, Angel. Don’t worry,” I say, trying to be
comforting, but she throws her hands up, exasperated.
“Of course, I’m going to worry, Branson. My uncle is a possible
attempted murderer. I still don’t know how much I can trust him right now.
He might be leading us into a trap,” she rambles. “Just get us there so I can
talk to him. Got it?”
I nod and she turns around, walking to the other side of the car as she
slips into her seat. When I’m settled behind the steering wheel, I want to tell
her that it’s going to be okay. I want to promise her that we’re going to be
fine. But the words don’t come. Because how can I promise something I’m
not sure is true?
She doesn’t speak the whole drive down to Provo, which is a long
fucking time. She taps her nails anxiously onto the window. Gio has some
information, we’re going to meet him to get it. It should be that simple. But
for whatever reason, we’re both running on fumes, scared and a little
terrified. I want – no, I need – to be brave for her.
We ended up in an alleyway similar to the one we were hiding in when
we staked out the jewellery store. God, how different things are now. Then,
she couldn’t even look at me without seeming like she was about to throw
up. Now, she’s fucking moaned into my mouth multiple times.
“Did he say where to meet him?” I ask when I’ve parked. She turns to
me, her face drier than it was before, but her hair still sticks to her forehead.
It’s still raining outside, so she’s bound to get it messed up again. I want to
brush it out of her face, cradle her head in my hands and kiss her on the
forehead. But I don’t do any of that. Instead, I tilt my head a little, noticing
she’s probably in her own world. “Scarlett?”
“Hm?” She looks me in the eye then before shaking her head a little.
“Yes. He said that we should wait in the car, and he’ll call us over. He
thinks someone is following him.”
“Shit,” I mutter. “Should I have been checking while we drove? I’m so
out of it, Scar. Everything’s a fucking mess right now.”
“Hey,” she says, cutting me off. “It’s fine. I wasn’t just looking out the
window lifelessly. I checked. We’re okay.”
I turn my head back in front of me and lean my head onto the headrest.
So much for being the brave one because I’m freaking out. I still need to
speak to her about the real reason behind why I wanted to help her with the
project as an opportunity to find out more about her family. As much as I’m
going to regret it afterwards, I’d much rather keep her safe and have her
hate me later than let her do this on her own.
I open my eyes, tilting my head towards my window and across the
street from where we’re parked, a man with long-ish hair and a messy beard
stands with his hood up. This street is dodgy as it is and I don’t like the idea
of us, especially at this time of day.
The sun has only just set, so the sky is painted a deep blue, littered with
rain clouds. I’m sure that guy is her uncle, but I nudge Scarlett, urging her
to look in my direction, just to make sure.
“That’s him,” she says, unclipping her seatbelt. I start to unclip mine.
“You stay here. He probably wants to talk in the restaurant.”
“Scarlett, if anything happens - and I mean, anything - let me know,
okay?”
She rolls her eyes. “How? Do you want me to scream or tell you
telepathically?”
“Scarlett,” I press. "This isn't a joke."
“I can handle myself, Branson.”
“I know. Just…Just be safe.”
She nods and with that, she slips out of the car, rounding it to my side
where she stands, giving me a thumbs up. She’s suddenly too relaxed. I
don't like it. She grins at me like this is such a normal thing. Unless she
knows deep down that her uncle is a safe person to be around.
The thought of anything happening to her is too terrifying to risk not
being protective right now. I know she’s strong. I know she’s resilient. I
know she’s brave, but there’s a part of me that feels the need to be near her
all the time, making sure she doesn’t get hurt.
That’s why my heart almost falls out my chest as she walks towards the
sidewalk, and she trips over her shoelaces.
Immediately, I open the door, my heart pounding as I try to get to her.
She didn’t fall into the road, thank goodness. But it was close. Too close.
Cars still whizz past, no one stopping to check if she’s okay.
“You okay?” I pant when I get to her, clasping my hand over her elbow.
She turns to me, and I can tell she’s pissed at me for not staying put.
“I’m fine, Branson. Jesus. Do you listen to anything I tell you?” She
argues, bending down to tie her shoes. I sigh, knowing that she’s fine and I
look back up across the road to where her uncle was standing.
Everything happens too fast.
Gio must have had the same thought to help Scarlett as she tripped
over. A black car with frosted windows speeds down the street and I hear a
crunch. A snap. I flinch.
It takes me a few seconds to register the screech of tires, the gasp that
escapes my throat and the body on the floor. My heartbeat is all I hear as the
rest of the world goes quiet.
 Scarlett starts to stand, and my first instinct is to turn her around to face
me, so her back is to the scene. I swear I throw up in my mouth a little, but I
force myself to swallow. I’m being the brave one.
It’s still raining – a little lighter now – but there’s so much blood. Too
much blood. It’s pooling out of his head, but I have to keep Scarlett as calm
as possible. I have to keep her safe. She can’t see that. I tighten my grip on
her shoulder, my nails digging into her.
It’s only been a matter of seconds, but it feels like it’s been hours.
“What the hell is going on, Branson?” she asks, oblivious. I swallow,
looking down at her. I try to get the words out, but they don’t come. How
are you supposed to tell someone that their uncle just got brutally hit by a
car and is not standing up? Scarlett could easily turn her head to see, but I
think she knows. “Did you hear that car? I swear some people don’t know
how to drive. Nobody got hit, did they?” She rambles and I nod.
She nods back, her eyes twitching. Her mouth forms into a slight frown
at my silence and her eyebrows soften a little. “It was Gio, wasn’t it?”
I nod.
That's all I can do.
I watch the exact moment she tries to turn around, but I tighten my grip
on her shoulders and crash her into my chest, holding her there. She doesn’t
need to see it. She can hear the gasps of onlookers, yet no one is fucking
doing anything. I feel her starting to cry against my chest as I keep my eyes
on the top of her head, unable to look at the scene.
It feels like a part of me is being ripped out of me as she cries. The
sound comes straight from the back of her throat. Not like the way she cried
at the museum. This is the sound of pure agony.
“I need to see him,” she sobs, trying to turn around again.
“Hey, look at me,” I demand, gripping onto her shoulders, my hands
finding their way back to her face, holding tight. She blinks up at me, more
and more tears streaming down her face. “Angel, I promise you, you don’t
want to see him yet.”
She’s crying harder now. “He’s my family," she cries, trying to turn
again but I grip onto her face, firmly urging her not to turn her head. She’s
sobbing, holding onto my forearms, trying to get me to pull them away
from her, but I don’t. She’s strong, but I’m stronger. “Let go of me,” she
groans.
 “Listen to me,” I say, my voice wavering. “Go to the car. Stand outside
the passenger side and sit on the floor. Don’t turn around until I’ve got him
out of the road, and I’ll bring him to you. Use my phone and call nine-one-
one and ask for an ambulance. Tell them there’s been a hit and run. Can you
do that for me?”
She nods her head so hard I’m sure she almost goes dizzy. She’s still
trying to pry my hands from her face, but she has no luck. This is not the
time for her to be stubborn. Can she not see that I’m trying to protect her?
That I don’t want her to see what I can.
“Scarlett, you need to talk to me,” I urge. She’s practically gasping for
air now, her chest heaving. “Tell me that you can do that.”
“I can do that,” she says through a cry. I pull my phone from my back
pocket and put it into her hands, clasping my hand around it to make sure
she’s got a hold of it. Her hands are shaking too much. I wipe the tears that
have fallen down her face only for more to fall. I can’t help it, so I press her
to my chest again and kiss her on the forehead as she stands lifelessly in my
arms. She pulls away from me and she walks back towards the car.
I hope for both of our sakes she doesn’t turn back.
A few cars have started diverting his body, yet no one tries to get out
and help him. I walk over to him, my shoes squelching in the rain. I’m not
good with blood. Not at all. But Scarlett would not be able to handle this.
Not when he’s this hurt and in the middle of the road. When I get closer, I
notice the huge gash at the side of his face as his whole body trembles. I
shudder.
“Can somebody help me get him out of the road!?” I shout to anyone.
For anyone to help. Nobody responds. It’s even quieter now. Only the sound
of the rain and the gurgling coming from Gio. How could someone do this?
Just hit someone and speed off. And more importantly, why?
I hold my breath as I slip my hand under his neck, feeling the soft flesh
there. The whole right side of his face is covered in blood from where he
landed. His leg is twisted outwards, and his mouth is full of blood, his eyes
rolling back in his head.
“Gio? It’s Evan. Can you feel anything?” I ask, patting down his arms
and across his torso. It’s faint and weak, but he shakes his head. I take off
my shirt with one hand. It’s already soaked through but, I need to do
something to stop the blood coming out of his head. I wring it out, folding it
over four times before pressing it to his head. I ease him off my lap to undo
my belt, wrapping around the side of his face. I know it looks painful, but
it’s the best I can do.
“I’m going to take you out of the road and get an ambulance so stay
with me, okay?”
His mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to speak but nothing comes
out. He coughs, tilting his head away from me as he spits blood onto the
street. I close my eyes for a second, trying my best to be brave.
“Sca,” he garbles.
“She’s behind the car. She’s safe. We’re going to get you help, okay?” I
try my best to seem convincing as I try to stand. I try to look around the
empty street, hoping someone will appear. I see a middle-aged man closing
down a florist and I sigh. “Hey! I need some help over here!”
He turns around and his face drops. We don’t have time for this. I know
how bad this looks. I can smell how bad this is. I don’t need someone who’s
going to throw up or scream. If Scarlett hears anyone else's reaction, she’s
going to freak out even more. We need to get Gio somewhere that isn’t in
the middle of the road, and he needs medical attention as soon as possible.
“Jesus, what happened?” the guy asks, rushing over. He’s dressed in a
puffer jacket, and he immediately zips it down, pulling it off. He stops still,
looking down at us and I glare. Now is not the time for questions, bud.
“Nevermind. Where are you trying to go?”
I tilt my head towards the alleyway where Scarlett’s parked. Jheez, I
hope she’s okay. “You see that car there?” I ask. The guy nods. “Just help
me get him there and then stay on lookout for an ambulance. One should be
coming soon.”
The guy doesn’t say anything as he helps me get Gio to his feet. He’s
not really walking as much, as he’s hovering as we use our strength to keep
him up. I feel bad that I’ve dragged him into the middle of this, but there
was no way I’d be able to drag him across the street on my own. Gio’s head
lolls to the side as we take each of his arms over our shoulders. This is bad.
Like really really bad.
We manage to get him to the side of the car that Scarlett isn’t on and
he’s groaning now. At least there's a sign he’s still with us. What the fuck do
I do now? The guy drops his coat over Gio, trying his best to keep him
warm. I would thank him if I could think properly, but I can’t. The guy
kneels beside me, trying to look at Gio’s face, but there’s not much to look
at anymore. It’s covered in blood.
Just so much blood.
“You’re doing everything you can, kid,” the guy says, patting me on the
shoulder. If I had the energy in me, I’d tell him to do something more. Say
something other than that. Gio’s head wobbles in my lap and I pull my
knees in, trying to elevate his head. The guy points down to the end of the
alleyway where the rain is slowing. “I’ll wait there for the ambulance.”
I close my eyes for a second, leaning my head against the brick wall,
trying to breathe. Trying to be strong. This is exactly what I didn’t want to
happen. I told my dad the minute something puts us in danger, I’m out.
“Ev… Your shirt…” I hear her mumble. I look up and Scarlett’s
standing over us, staring right at her uncle’s weak body. She’s not sobbing
anymore, which is good. She’s had time to calm herself down. She’s
gasping, though, holding her hand to her chest. My once white shirt is still
wrapped around his head, soaked through with blood. I ignore her, pressing
my shirt onto the side of his head.
I don’t think I’m doing enough.
I need to do more.
“Didn’t I tell you to wait by the side of the car?” I ask, frustrated. She
gulps, not responding. “How long until the ambulance comes?”
“Any minute now,” she whispers. She kneels down, trying to look at
him, but I can tell it’s paining her. Fuck, she’s going to have nightmares
about this for weeks. I know I will. I tried to protect her from that as much
as I could. She presses her hands to the side of his neck. “Have you checked
his pulse? My hands are still shaking.”
I gently move her hands away from him, placing them in her lap.
Instead, I press two fingers onto his wrist, and it takes a while for me to feel
something. “It’s weak, Scar.”
“Are you sure you’re doing it right?” she asks, gently pulling his arm
into her lap and she tries to feel for it. She probably comes to the same
realisation that I do. “No. No. No. He’s not gone yet. He can’t be.”
“Scarlett,” I say quietly. That's all I can say. I gently try to pry her
hands off of him, but she won’t budge. She must have realised what I did.
He’s not got long left.
 “No, Evan,” she shouts at me. “No,” she says again, quieter. She pulls
Gio’s face into her hands and I have to look away, not able to stomach the
large gash at the side of his head, but I still press my shirt to it. “Come on,
G. Stay with me, okay? I can't lose you too. Stay with me. Please.”
She tries to wipe the blood out of his face, but I can tell that part of it
disgusts her. I silently tell her to stop. I clasp both of her hands in mine,
holding them tight as she cries hard on my shoulder. I press a kiss to the top
of her head.
“I’m here, Angel. I’m here,” I whisper over and over again until three
heartbeats slowly fade to two.

OceanofPDF.com
 29
Evan

Most of what happened next is hard to remember.

I stayed next to Scarlett when they took her uncle's body into the
ambulance. I sat by her next to the stretcher as she held onto his hand,
whispering prayers, and begging him to stay with her. I stayed with her
when we waited outside the operating room. She paced the hallway and
ignored me when I asked her to sit down. I think halfway through she
realised that he wasn’t coming out of the operating room alive. I stayed with
her when the doctors came out and told us they were sorry for our loss.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t run into the room like I expected, demanding
they do more. She just stood there, staring at the doctor until I clasped my
hand around her elbow and led her to a seat. When the doctors changed our
clothes, giving us scrubs that weren’t covered in blood, a nurse had to dress
her because she didn’t want to move. Even when her mom and brothers
came, she sat there, staring at the blank wall, the smell of chlorine and
chemicals invading our senses. They didn’t know what to do or say, so they
left me with her, and I promised them I’d get her home safe.
I sat with her for hours. I brought food to her, but she didn’t eat. She
didn’t speak. She didn’t even look at me. I tried to comfort her. I never left
her side. I couldn’t. And I didn’t want to. I need to be close to her, at all
times and even with her in a state of grief, I still want to be with her.
Now, I’m driving her back home in her car and she’s still silent. It’s
stopped raining, but her body temperature keeps fluctuating. At the
moment, her face looks pale, but she feels warm. I can tell she’s going to
fall asleep. She’s still in shock and her head keeps lolling forward. I slow
down the car so I can use my right hand to lift her head up. Her head is so
hot it almost scalds me.
“Hey, Scar?” I ask, tilting her head to lift back on the headrest. I glance
at her, trying my best to keep my eyes on the road at the same time. Her
dark hair is covering most of her face.
“Hm?” she mumbles. It’s the most I’ve heard her speak in the last six
hours, so I hold onto the moment and urge her not to fall asleep.
“Stay with me, okay?” I let go of my hand for a second, seeing if she’ll
keep her head up, but she can’t do it on her own. Maybe we shouldn’t have
left the hospital. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m literally fine,” she groans. Of course, she has the energy to give
me sass right now.
“You’re not,” I say, still holding her head up. She turns her head into
my hand, gently nuzzling her cheek into my palm like a kitten. I lower my
hand, so it rests in my lap, and she sets her head in it. I continue driving
with one hand, stroking her hair out of her face with the other.
“I’m trying,” she groans, and it sounds like she’s crying again. Her
voice sounds so filled with pain that it tears my heart in two. “I’m just so
tired…so tired of everything. Everything hurts so badly.”
“What hurts, Angel?” I ask, moving my hand from her face down her
spine, running my fingers up and down. She relaxes into me for a second
and I can tell she’s forcing herself to breathe calmly. I don’t want her to
sleep yet. Not when she hasn’t eaten all day.
“Everything hurts,” she says again. “My head. My back. My heart. My
chest. My hands. I feel like I can’t breathe anymore, Ev.”
“I’ve got you, Scar. What do you need?”
“I don’t know,” she groans, pressing her hand to her temples.
“Can I take you back to the hospital?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. No hospitals.”
“Okay, then what can I do for you, Scarlett? I need to help you,” I say
quietly, still running my finger up and down her back.
“Just take me home. Please,” she whispers. She turns in my lap so she’s
looking up at me. Her face is paler than usual, but her cheeks are a little red.
She grabs my hand, pressing it to her heart. “I feel like my chest is on fire.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” I whisper back to her, massaging the top
of her chest gently and she lets me. She lets me be there for her.
Scarlett
Have you ever had that feeling after you’ve felt things so intensely,
where you feel it right to your core, it sits in your stomach, it stays there
and then it’s just…gone?
I get that feeling after being so high on energy at a concert and I have to
go back home, where I have to pretend, I didn’t have the best time of my
life. I got that feeling after I finished high school. Everyone was sad about
leaving their friends and moving away, but what stuck with me was that I
was leaving a place and it felt like losing a person. It felt like losing a part
of myself since it was somewhere I spent so many years creating memories
with my best friends.
That’s what it felt like when the doctors told me my uncle had died. I
already knew from the moment in the alley that he wouldn’t make it, but the
doctors made it official.
He was just gone. There was nothing left of him. That’s the hardest part
about someone dying is knowing that it's just…it. Their memories cease to
exist. Their thoughts, their feelings, everything that made them them
doesn’t even mean anything anymore. You don’t get to ever speak to them
again. You won’t ever know what they would have thought about
something new happening. You’d never know if their voice would change
with age or if it would stay the same. Their mind, their soul, their body…
everything is just gone.
I’m still trying to process it when Evan takes me back to my apartment.
The girls’ cars aren’t in the driveway, and I don’t know when or if I’ll tell
them. I’m not planning on talking to anyone right now. I don’t want to
wallow and sit in silence, but I don’t want to talk either. I just want to stop
feeling. To stop the noise in my head that keeps replaying the same thoughts
over and over.
He’s gone.
He’s gone.
He’s just gone.
 When I open the door, I switch on the lights and Evan follows behind
me. I know this is the last thing he wants to do right now. I’ve shown too
much to him recently. I’ve basically laid my soul bare in front of this man
more than once. But he never makes me feel like I shouldn’t. He just lets
me feel things.
I tell him I’m going to take a shower and he nods. I leave him in the
kitchen, needing a minute. I’ve had hours to get my shit together. I’ve had
too long to stop acting like my life has ended. It hasn’t. I know it hasn’t.
But for some reason my whole body feels like it’s being weighed down, like
somebody is standing on my chest, telling me not to get up. But I need to. I
need to push that demon off me and get my act together.
I take a long shower, needing the space and the time. I end up staring at
the white tiles of the bathroom for half an hour, naked, the hot water
pummelling on my back that I don’t even end up using any soap until
almost an hour goes by. I always take hot showers, but right now, I need it
to scold me. I need it to make me feel more than this heavy, numb feeling
that I can’t escape.
I hate feeling like this. It’s not that I’m sad. I mean, that’s what I’m
supposed to feel, right? Pure and utter sadness? So, I probably am deep
down. But on the surface, I can’t even put it into words how it feels. It’s like
trying to remember the last time you saw someone who you don’t talk to
anymore. Where you try so hard it just hurts at the thought of it.
There’s just nothing other than a dark nothingness that rests on my
chest. I can’t even conjure in my head most of what happened on that street.
I try my best to feel as normal as I can when I get ready, so I can go
into my room and wait until my body decides to fall asleep. I shove on a
pair of pyjama shorts and a tank top, throwing a sweater on top. When I
wander back into the kitchen, Evan is still here.
I think it’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since we got into the
ambulance. He had to change his clothes into a pair of scrubs, the same as I
did and he’s still wearing them. His hair is a lot messier than usual, and his
face just looks worn out. It’s way into the morning now, probably around
two or three. I haven’t checked my phone, but Evan must have if he’s
sorting out takeout food onto a plate.
I inch further into the kitchen and his head shoots up, his eyes softening
on me. I still don’t know what’s going on with us. Part of me wants to see
what happens, let it spiral out of control, but the other part of me needs to
know what’s going to happen. Now is not the time for that. All I know as of
right now is that I want to be close to him and I don’t want to be alone for
once.
“You should have gone home. It’s late,” I whisper, making my way to
the kitchen counter.
“I didn’t want to,” he explains, closing the lids to the plastic containers.
“You need to eat.”
I’m not hungry, but I don't tell him that. I take the plate of Chinese
takeout and make my way over into the living room, settling between the
soft plush blankets we often leave lying around. Evan follows me, sitting
beside me with a sigh, manspreading like always. The TV is in front of us
but neither of us make a move to turn it on.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask once I’ve eaten a forkful of
noodles. The food makes me feel sick, but it was a nice gesture, so I force
myself to eat some of it. I push the plate aside, pulling my knees up to my
chest as I lean my head on them.
“Because I want to,” he says quietly. I don’t look at him. I don’t know
if I want to. I just keep my head buried in my knees.
“Why?” I ask quietly.
“Scar,” he murmurs. I feel the soft brush of his fingers on my shoulder,
and I flinch. “Scarlett, sweetheart, look at me, please.”
I slowly move my head, turning towards him, still resting on my knees.
He looks so tired and sad. I feel terrible that he’s had to lose out on sleep
because of me. I don’t know how bad Gio looked before I saw him in
Evan’s lap but I’m sure it scarred him. His eyes usually have this ocean-like
glow in them, but now, they just seem dim - almost like the deep
nothingness that lurks at the bottom of the ocean. Completely empty.
“We’re not doing that, okay? I know things are hard right now, but I’m
going to be nice to you and you’re going to let me. Deal?”
I nod. He keeps his hand on my shoulder, gently rubbing it. I don’t tell
him to stop. I don’t think I want him to. “Are you not going to eat?”
“I already did when you were in the shower,” he says. I nod again. He
sighs as if he’s been holding his breath and I think at that moment, we both
realise the severity of today. He watched somebody die. My uncle died. In
my arms. He’s gone forever. I feel the dryness at the back of my throat, and
I start blinking rapidly.
Evan doesn’t say anything other than, “Come here.”
I don’t climb into his lap, so much as he pulls me into him. I allow
myself to release all the resentment I held towards him, and I let myself
wrap my arms around his neck as he snakes his hands around my shoulders,
holding me tightly just the way I need. I’m hugging him and I’m letting him
anchor me because I need it. And I think he needs it too. I don’t care about
that one thing he said to me years ago. I don’t care about the stupid games
we’ve been playing since then.
I just want him to hold me, and he does.
“You know that I’ve got you, Scar, don’t you?” he asks thickly. I nod
into his neck, inhaling him. “I’d never let anything happen to you. Ever.”
“I know,” I choke out. He’s not a monster. He’s not evil. He’s just Evan
Branson who cares about me. He cares about me enough to sit with me in
silence when I can’t find the words. He cares about me enough to buy me
food and make sure I eat it. He cares about me enough to sit with me in
front of a blank TV and hold me when he knows I need it. When he tells me
he’s got me, I believe him.
Even when I slip out of his lap, settling beside him, he keeps his arm
around me as I rest my head on his shoulder. I pull my knees up and he
grabs one of the blankets, laying it over our legs. After he’s smoothed it out,
he slips his hand under the covers and his hand finds mine. And I hold it.

Evan
She’s doing it again. Well, I think she is. She’s doing that thing where
she does something without realising that she’s doing them. She's stroking
her thumb against my hand, and I want to crawl up into her lap even though
she’s the one that’s hurting.
I wish she could be like this all the time. As much as I love her
screaming at me, I like the quiet moments too. The moments where we
share a blanket in her living room, not talking and staring at the blank TV.
We don’t say anything to each other, but we don’t need to because each
stroke of her thumb against my hand is telling me enough.
I’m glad you’re here.
Thank you for taking care of me.
I needed this.
I need you.
I don’t even realise that we fell asleep until the sun starts to peek
through the blinds of the living room and the front door opens. Neither of us
have spoken to the rest of the group since we left suddenly. They must have
heard about it from the morning news and came straight here.
We fell asleep sitting up, so when the girls came rushing into the room,
I gently pushed apart from her making my way to the pillar between the
open living room and kitchen. No matter how upset she is, I want her to tell
her friends whatever is going on between us on her terms. I don’t want them
to assume anything that she’s not comfortable with.
“Scarlett,” Kennedy coos quietly, climbing onto the couch next to a
sleepy Scarlett. She smiles weakly before she wraps her in a hug. “We
heard. We’re so sorry.”
I watch as Kennedy fusses over her that I don’t realise Wren’s hand on
my back. I turn to her and she’s a lot shorter than me, so she blinks up at
me, her green eyes filled with concern.
“Is she okay?” she asks me quietly. I shrug, nodding gently.
“She will be. I think she’s still in shock,” I explain. Wren pulls her
bottom lip between her teeth in worry as she turns back to Kennedy and
Scarlett.
“Thank you. You know, for taking care of her. She’s our girl and she
pretends to be tough, but sometimes she needs someone to look after her.
We try when we can, but she’s not easy to deal with, but you calm her. I
think you make her feel safe and she needs that.”
“I do?” I ask, shocked.
What me and Scarlett have done up until now has been anything but
calm. I've always wanted that peace that we once had when we were kids,
but I thought it never came back. Unless things look differently to her, I
wouldn’t know what Wren’s talking about.
“Yeah. She would never admit it, but I’ve seen you guys sneaking
around and I assume you’re enabling her compulsions for finding out what
happened to her dad. If she was doing this on her own, she’d be freaking
out. But she hasn’t been. I think you’re good for her. In whatever way you
want to take that,” she says, turning to look up at me. “You should get some
sleep too. You look exhausted.”
I smile at her and when she walks over to fuss over Scarlett on the
couch, I turn around and slip out of the door, finally sighing a breath of
relief. Today has been one long fucking day and I can’t wait to get back into
my bed.
I make it about five steps out of the building before I hear Scarlett
running and shouting after me. I turn around and there she is, a blanket
wrapped around her shoulder, her hair a mess, her face still tired, but she
smiles at me weakly.
“You were going to leave without saying bye?” she pants, tilting her
head to the side.
“Well, your friends came back, and it seemed like you needed some
time alone,” I explain, instantly moving my hand to the back of my neck
nervously. She studies me for a few seconds, not sure what to say. I just
stand there until she jumps into my arms, her arms around the blanket
wrapping around me, covering us both in the warmth.
She tightens her arms around my neck, and I feel every single part of
me come alive. I wrap my arms around her small waist, pulling her as close
to me as I can. I should not be getting hard right now. Especially after
everything that has happened in the last few hours, but she just smells so
fucking good all the time.
“Thank you, Evan,” she whispers, her mouth and her hot breath against
the rapid pulse on my neck. I finally believe I can breathe again. “For
everything.”
“You’re welcome,” I say back. “For everything.”

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 30
Evan

“So, that’s it? He’s just gone. Dead.”

After not sleeping properly for four nights, the last thing I want or need
to deal with is my dad and my uncle. I’ve been sitting in my dad’s office for
almost an hour, and he keeps asking me questions about Gio. I answer them
and then he asks more, usually the same question. Something is not adding
up to him, which is the last thing I can focus on right now. My priority is
being there for Scarlett.
Since Gio’s death, reporters have decided to keep quiet about it,
claiming that the only thing that has happened is Voss has lost a vital
member to their team.
What they don’t say is how B&Co believe that Gio was the one
smuggling the drugs into the business, and he died in an accident, tying up
the story neatly. Motives are still loose, but they could make sense. He
wasn’t a leader like Mateo was. He wasn’t in the spotlight. He lost his wife
and his close friend the same night. Maybe he wanted more, and he wasn’t
getting it. It just doesn’t make sense that he would try and put Scarlett in
danger, enabling her on his concerns and worries about the business,
knowing that she would try to figure it out on her own. I’ve had days to get
my head around, but it still seems so foggy.
“I just don’t believe you’re telling me that our lead suspect has just
died. It would have been one hell of a story,” my dad says, sighing as he
looks through the window into the frosty forest of the backyard. “Do you
know who killed him?”
 I shake my head. I’ve been trying not to relive that night. The last thing
I want to remember is all that blood, her screams…. “No, it seemed like a
freak accident.”
“Seemed?” He quirks an eyebrow as he turns to me. I rub my sweaty
palms against my trousers.
“Well, I don't know for sure, obviously. Everything happened so fast. It
makes sense that it was an accident. The only person who would want him
dead is Mateo and he’s not even alive fully himself,” I say, voicing my
theories aloud. My dad nods slowly before recounting the story I’ve told
him three times.
“So, he never got to tell you what he was going to say?” he asks.
“No. I’m assuming it was some fucked up confession or something,” I
say, shrugging.
“Right. Well, keep an eye out,” he says, getting up out of the seat to
walk me out. He pushes the door open, but I don’t walk through.
“Yeah. About that…” I start and he tilts his head at me. I rub the back
of my neck anxiously before shaking out my hand. “Look, I’m out. I'm
done. Whatever it is that you want to keep digging for, you do it on your
own. We could have also been killed if we weren't careful and God, if
anything happened to Scarlett, I would have personally murdered whoever
hurt her.”
My dad nods at first. He understands what it’s like in this industry. He
tries to protect me, and he tried to protect my mom. I know he would do
anything to make sure we’re safe and he has to understand that I would do
the same thing for Scarlett.
“You’re starting to sound like you love her, boy,” my dad says
playfully, smirking. Weirdly enough, I don’t want to punch him in the throat
for suggesting that. I stand my ground.
“She’s my partner in everything, in every way. She can give me a hard
time, but that doesn’t mean I don't want to protect her. She's not done
anything wrong to deserve any of that,” I say. He studies me for a moment,
and he doesn’t say anything. For a second, I think he’s proud of me in some
way. I glance down at my watch. “Speaking of her, I’m meant to meet her
now, so we don’t fail our class. And I meant what I said. Anything I find
out; I’m not doing it for you.”
 He holds out his hand to me and I look at it for a second before shaking
it. “Weirdly, I respect that,” he says with a low chuckle. I give him one of
my best smiles, finally feeling like a weight has lifted off my shoulders.
“Good.”

* * *

Most of Scarlett and I’s conversations over the last few days have been
a lot of one-worded ones. I’m fine with it. This is her process and I’m going
to be with her throughout all of it. I just wish I could do something to ease
her pain.
She came straight back to school on Monday like nothing happened.
She came in, attended every lecture, completed her homework, and gave
nobody any reason to suspect that she just lost a family member. She still
dressed the same. She still let out her snarky comments while we studied.
She’s good at pretending everything’s fine. Too good.
“How are you feeling?” I ask when I return from the bathroom. We’ve
not said much to each other today, but we’re getting closer to finishing our
app. We need to work on a colour scheme and more finer details, but it’s
coming together perfectly. She looks up at me, her eyes still a little heavy
and dull.
“Not great,” she mutters before dropping her eyes to her laptop.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I suggest quietly, shifting in my seat.
“Not really.”
“Want to sit in silence and read?”
She nods and we do.
She finishes up her final research for getting the app together, emailing
back and forth with the software developer, while I stare at colours, so I
don’t stare at her.
Don’t get me wrong, I love it when she shouts me and tells me I’m
doing something wrong, but there is something incredibly special about
these quiet moments where she lets me help her and be there for her.
There is nothing more that I want or need more than Scarlett Voss.
She’s just everything.
“Hey,” she says quietly, snapping me out of my daydream.
 I look up at her. I was doing the thing that she does – where she does
things without realising them. Maybe that’s what happens to her. Maybe she
gets too stuck in her head that she doesn’t know what her body is doing. I
don’t know why I’m doing it. I shouldn’t be stressed, but I am. We’ve still
got to finish the project. I don’t know where we stand or how to help her.
The thought of the mystery still not being solved is making me worry more
than usual.
“You’re tapping the table again. Can you chill for two seconds?”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks quietly, glancing around the
empty library. I’ve stopped tapping as fast as it was before, and it’s now
slowed down to a rhythmic tap.
“I don’t know. I just…I just need to do something,” I say, running my
hands through my hair as I lean back in the chair. When I look at her, her
eyes have softened, and her mouth is pulled into a small smile.
“What do you need?”
You, I almost say like a fucking lunatic.
The last thing I want to do is confuse her having a hard time with
actually liking me beyond the new friendship we discovered. I’m losing my
shit here. Why is this coming to such a surprise for me? It shouldn't be,
right? She's been right in front of me for years and I’ve been aware of her
before that. I can’t get awkward now. Not when she’s already going through
so much.
“Ev,” she presses. That nickname, I think to myself. It makes my heart
almost fall out of my chest. “Why don’t you go to the music rooms or
something? I’ll finish up here. Your stress is going to rub off on me.”
“Are you sure?” I choke out.
“I’m going to be nice to you and you’re going to let me. Deal?” she
says, repeating my words back to me. She tilts her head when I don’t say
anything, silently trying to figure me out.
“Okay,” I say, packing up my sheets and my laptop to put into my
backpack. She smiles weakly before dropping her eyes back down to her
work.
When I get to the music rooms, I have a moment to think, to stop the
constant worrying about what could happen or what has already happened. I
know I need to live in the moment and God knows that I try, it’s just hard
sometimes.
It’s so easy to tell yourself that living while you can is the best option,
but there is always going to be that fear about tomorrow or yesterday. The
worst part is, when you spend the whole day ignoring your worries and
compulsions, the second your brain is not focused on something else,
everything comes rushing back to you like a tidal wave and you feel like
you can’t breathe anymore.
I get through almost an hour of playing intense dark melodies until I
decide to slow it down and choose something more light-hearted. I’m not
playing for an audience, but I’m sure people are walking past and assuming
I’m having some sort of breakdown, which I kind of am.
I got an email from Diane Scavo, the teacher of musical arts at NU
about a showcase coming up. She wants me to perform an original piece,
but I haven’t composed my own music in a while. I try to give it a go,
seeing if the melodies will come naturally to me, but they don’t.
My old piano teacher told me that the best way to create your own
music is to relieve your greatest memories. Recently, it’s been harder to dig
back into those joyful times with all the doom and gloom happening around
me. Still, I try my hardest and think of a time when I was truly happy.
The first thing that comes to mind is Scarlett teasing me in that dodgy
restaurant about how I was in the band and when we smoked weed and she
pressed her hand to my heart or at the museum when she held my hand. All
my best memories are with her, and they’ve only occurred in the last few
weeks.
My all-time favourite was last Christmas when she shoved bacon in my
face because I joked about her eating the last piece. I thought she felt it too
– that slight spark of connection – when she locked eyes with me and I
smiled with bacon falling out of my mouth as she continued to shove more
in my face.
I sigh after stringing together a decent three-minute piece. It’s not
perfect, but it’s something.
When I open my eyes, she’s there, standing like an angel, watching me
play. If I didn’t know any better, she’s probably been hiding, listening to me
all this time. But I don’t know any better, so I smile at her in the mirror.
 She takes a seat across from me, still watching me in the mirror as she
asks, “Is it going to distract you if I watch?”
I shake my head. “It’s better, actually,” I say, although I don’t know if
it’s entirely true. “Can you sing for me?”
She laughs and the sound runs right through me like water. It’s the first
time I’ve heard her laugh in a few days. God, I missed that sound so much.
“I told you I can’t sing,” she concedes.
“Fine,” I say, moving to leave space on the bench as I gesture to it. “Let
me teach you something then.”
She sighs a little, but she accepts my proposal, sliding next to me on the
bench. Our thighs are touching, our elbows brushing against each other, and
it feels like my whole body is being dunked inside a volcano. Everything
about her just lights me up: her wit, her charm, her intelligence, her beauty,
her smile, her eyes, her everything.
Jeez, this is starting to get pathetic.
“You gonna teach me or what, Branson?” she asks sarcastically,
watching me watch her in the mirror. I nod and I place my right hand on the
keys, playing A to G slowly. “I know where the notes are. Just teach me
something good.”
“I’m the teacher, remember?” I say, nudging her with my shoulder.
“Yeah, a pretty shit one,” she mumbles.
“Okay, I’ll show you Moonlight Sonata,” I say, and she nods. “I’ll play
the right hand and you can do the left since it’s more repetitive.”
I play the first few lines of the song with both hands at a faster tempo
than usual, so she gets the gist. She watches my hands carefully, twisting
hers in her lap. When I’m done, I replay the part I’m going to teach her.
“I can not do that,” she says quietly.
“Oh my god, are you a quitter, Angel?” I hold a dramatised hand to my
chest, gasping and she kicks me under the seat, and I wince. “Come on. I’ll
show you it one more time and you can do it. I believe in you.”
“Your belief in me is doing nothing for me right now,” she mutters.
“Well, it better,” I say back before playing it again.
I watch her as she tries to do it on her own. She does it slowly, but she
messes up a few times, so I encourage her to continue. I have sheet music
on my phone, but that would only confuse her, so she’s mostly doing it by
ear. Honestly, she’s not half bad. She messes it up again and she hits the
keys, so they make an ugly sound.
I place my hands over hers and she gasps quietly, looking up at me. I
keep my eyes on her brown ones as I squeeze her hands softly. Her mouth
parts as her gaze drops to my lips for only a second and then back up to my
eyes.
“You’re getting too worked up,” I tell her. “You don’t have to be perfect
at it on the first try. I would teach you every day if you wanted me to.”
She laughs a little. “You would really do that?”
“Of course, I would,” I say, staring at her until she accepts it. Until she
accepts that I'm always here for her. Finally, she nods, and I drop my hands
from hers. “Now play it again.”

* * *

After we both had enough of playing, she went to meet Kennedy and I
walked home. I needed the time alone. I feel guilty, though. I didn’t know
Gio, but for some reason I feel like I’m sharing Scarlett’s pain with her.
When I get home, I pull out my phone to text her.

ME: Thank you. I needed that.

SCARLETT: I know.

The three dots appear and then disappear again. She’s thinking about
what to say to me and I let her take her time while I pace my room.

SCARLETT: Me too.

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 31
Scarlett

I’ve put off going to therapy for so many reasons.

I always thought that my problems were never big enough to receive
professional help. There are people with real struggles and I’m just a girl
with a slightly dysfunctional family and a need to always do her best.
Voicing my fears out loud as well as someone trying to help me navigate it
just felt like I was burdening them with my issues. I know it's their job, but
I can't help but think I’m taking away space from people who truly need it.
Since Gio’s death, I’ve been trying my best to be strong. I need to move
on and continue with my life. I know what grief does to people. I know how
it holds people back from their potential and I don’t want that to happen to
me. I already showed too much weakness towards Evan, so I cleaned up my
act, put on a decent outfit and I went back to school. People talk. They
always have. Before, the looks I got were either disgust or jealousy and now
its pity.
My family is also trying to move on. When I went to visit them, no one
spoke about it and they put their best faces on, acting as if nothing
happened. I don’t know which is worse: talking about it or ignoring it. The
latter makes me feel less lonely though.
My mom forwarded us all an email of a list of therapists in and around
the area. The twins aren’t bothered about going, Hen says he’s considering
it, but I actually took the leap. If I’m not going to talk to my friends, the
least I can do is talk to a professional. What I wasn't expecting was for her
to see right through me.
 I’ve been sitting in Dr. Nelson’s minimalist office for almost half an
hour, and she’s already managed to figure me out. Sometimes, I feel like I
don’t even know myself and the perception I have is simply based on how
other people think of me. It’s fucked up and it doesn’t even make sense
because I do know myself. I have to, right? I know how I present myself,
but what I can’t figure out for the life of me is why. Which is one of the first
questions Dr. Nelson asks me.
“Why do you think nobody likes you?” she asks. She reminds me of
one of my old high school teachers. She has short light brown hair, owl-
framed glasses and is wearing a grey romper. She seemed like the best
choice because she’s young and doesn’t make me feel like I’m talking to a
professional even though she is one.
I shift in the extremely comfortable seat across from her. “I never said
that.”
She shakes her head lightly, glancing down to the notebook in her hand.
I had to fill out a questionnaire before arriving, so she already knows what
happened and how I’m feeling on a scale of ‘not great’ to ‘fantastic.’ I
noted down somewhere closer to ‘not great.’
“No, but you’re thinking about it, right?”
I chuckle a little, brushing my hair that has fallen in front of my eyes
out of my face. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I’m here for
grief counselling.”
“Yes, but that also requires me to get to know you, too,” she explains. I
resist the urge to roll my eyes. She’s just doing her job. “Can you talk to me
about why you feel like you don’t have many friends other than the ones
you live with? You wrote down that high school was particularly difficult.
Do you think you could reflect on that time?”
I take a deep breath, trying my best to go back to that time. That part of
my life stays with the other suppressed memories of my childhood, locked
away in the deepest corners of my brain in a chest labelled ‘Do not open.’ I
try not to think about it most of the time because I know that I’ve grown
since then.
“I’ve always been confident. Well, I thought I was. I mean, I had to be.
I had an image to uphold. I couldn’t embarrass my family and even though
my parents dismissed my achievements, it only made me want to work
harder. It paid off. I passed every test with flying colours, and I even
became valedictorian by the end of high school, but still, nobody wanted to
be my friend other than Wren and Kennedy. My brothers teased me about it,
saying that it’s because I tried too hard at school and people thought I was
stuck-up. But I just didn’t get it. There were so many people who could be
pretty, smart, and popular, but just not me.
“Everyone would make groups that I wouldn’t be a part of. They’d plan
times to hang out in the bathrooms and no one would invite me. They’d
have parties and I would never go. I tried to rationalise it, believing that
people were just jealous. It wasn’t until junior year until I finally plucked up
the courage to ask someone in my Spanish class what was so wrong with
me. ‘We just don’t like you. Your vibe is just off,” she said. They just didn’t
like me. What the fuck does that even mean? They just had one look at me
and decided they didn’t want to get to know me. And because it was high
school, word got around fast, and everyone collectively decided they didn’t
want me.”
I take a deep breath, my hands shaking.
“I thought things started to turn around senior year. Everyone wanted to
party, and no one was taking anything seriously. I made the stupid decision
to host a party, hoping people would come and when they heard how big
my house was and the amount of food I was bringing, they did. Suddenly
everyone was interested in me and because I was stupid and I got high off
being needed and somebody choosing me, I made friends with the wrong
people. I got used for my car, my house, my money, my fame. People would
make up any excuse to hang out with me and I let them. For a few months,
it was bliss. I was trying hard to fit in and it paid off. Then, when one of the
biggest parties of that year got busted by the cops for underage drinking at a
party I didn’t host, I got blamed for it. Still, that short period where we hung
out, I sort of miss it.”
Dr. Nelson watches me for a second, processing the word vomit. She
writes something down in her notebook before looking back up at me. “Do
you miss it because they chose you?” I nod, tears fighting my eyes not to
fall. “Why do you think that’s so important to you?”
“Because no one has chosen me just for me before,” I admit. Oh, shit.
I’m going to cry right now. It’s my first session and I’m already about to
bawl like a baby. Yet, I don’t want to stop talking. It feels too freeing. As if
talking about it will take the pain away. “At the time, it felt like people were
starting to really like me. Before I could even understand it, people have
always taken one look at my family and their achievements and based me
off that. I never got the chance to show my true talents or figure things out
on my own. I thought that they started to realise I wasn’t as bad as everyone
made me out to be and that they wanted me. Looking back, I know it was
stupid because they didn’t want me. They just wanted what I could give
them.”
“Do you think you still do that now – allowing people in because you’d
prefer that they want something from you than nothing at all?”
I shake my head, wiping the tears with the back of my sweatshirt. “No,
I’ve stopped doing that. I realised that what I need is people to like me for
who I am and if they don’t – if they want more – then I don’t need them.”
“How do you manage relationships and friendships with this fear?”
“I don’t think it’s a fear. I’m not scared of it happening again because I
won’t let it.”
“How do you ensure that doesn’t happen? I’m curious about your
process, Scarlett.”
“I just don’t let people get too close romantically. That’s where it hurts
the most,” I say easily. It’s the most natural response and the one that’s the
truest. This isn’t an interrogation, but for some reason, it feels like it. She’s
just trying to get to know me, but it’s so hard to explain that to her when I
don’t even know who that is sometimes.
“Do you not think that limits you from gaining something possibly
great?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I’d rather have nobody and deal with solitude than
have people who are destined to break my heart.”
She nods, writing down in her notebook. I take the opportunity to take a
real deep breath and allow the weight of the world to be off my shoulders
for one minute.
“And now, as you deal with losing your uncle, are you still shutting
people out or are you allowing anyone in?” she asks. “You said you weren’t
alone when he passed. I’m assuming you still talk to that person.”
Just the mention of that day, the way Evan held me and cared for me
makes me cry even more. He was just there. She holds the box of tissues
towards me, and I grab them.
 “God, I’m so fucking embarrassed,” I mutter, wiping my eyes and my
face. She doesn’t say anything, but she smiles softly. “Yes, I still talk to
him, but not about what happened. It’s hard to talk about it.”
“That’s understandable. It’s not something you exactly want to
remember and that’s okay. Dealing with it and moving on is just as
important,” she says gently. “Do you mind me asking what you talk about
instead?”
I shrug, tilting my head up to the ceiling so I can stop the tears from
falling. “He helps me forget. He distracts me and I don’t know if he’s doing
it on purpose, but he doesn’t push me to talk about it,” I say, remembering
the way he taught me how to play piano. How he let us sit in silence when I
didn’t want to talk.
“And does that help?”
“With Evan it’s just…He listens to me. Even if we have a complicated
relationship right now, he still manages to care and it’s beyond me why. I
haven’t given him any reason to. We weren’t the kindest to each other for a
while and then we talked, and I don’t know…I misjudged him. I think
we’re similar in that way,” I explain. “Maybe if people got to know me
more, they’d actually like me despite my money and my family. But I'm
constantly putting up this barrier, terrified of rejection.”
“And you think Evan likes you for more than that?”
“I mean, he has to, right? I’ve put him through some real shit for the
last few years and I know he’s probably scarred from witnessing what
happened to Gio. And God, I feel like such a hypocrite,” I say when the
realisation hits me, and I bark out a disbelieving laugh. “I just said that
whole thing about people judging me and deciding they don’t like me, and I
did the same thing to him. I’ve got to know him over the last few weeks and
he’s…He’s probably one of the kindest people I know. He listens to me, he
takes care of me, even when I don’t want him to. It’s not about him
choosing me for me because in some way, I don’t think that would matter
with him. Even if we had a rocky start, all he’s done since then is make me
feel like I’m capable of more than I give myself credit for. He’s gotten to
know me, and he hasn’t run away yet.”
Dr. Nelson smiles as more tears run down my face. I rub at my cheeks,
sighing as the realisation that I might, actually, definitely like Evan Branson
washes over me. “He seems like a good friend. Why do you think you care
so much about being liked, Scarlett?”
I laugh. “I don’t care.”
“You do care, Scarlett and that’s okay,” she presses. She’s not going to
let this go.
“It’s so easy to say that you don’t care about what people think of you,
but the truth of the matter is, you do. Everybody does. Because people’s
perception is what makes you, you. You can try to be a good person, and
someone will think you’re trying too hard or you’re not trying hard enough.
You can try and showcase your intelligence and you’ll get put down for it.
So, really, even when I try to be my authentic self, I can’t ever find it
because I’m still, subconsciously, trying to please others.”
“Don’t you think it would be freeing if you let go of that?” she asks
curiously.
“People don’t need a reason not to like me and they just don’t and that
sucks, okay? Even before everything that happened with the party, people
had one look at me, and they realised they don’t like me. One person I
could deal with. Maybe I’m just not their vibe, but when it’s everybody, I’m
starting to wonder if maybe I’m the problem. Maybe I need to be the one to
change because nobody else will. I thought I was just a hard person to love.
I tried to change, and it didn’t get me anywhere. But I don’t want to do that
anymore because I love myself and I just…I just…”
“Want to fit in and be accepted,” Dr Nelson says, finishing my train of
thought. I nod. “It’s all anybody wants.”
“I want to stop feeling this way. I really do. I never used to think about
what happened or what people think of me until Gio died and suddenly I’m
questioning everything, my loneliness included. I just want to be happy
again, but it’s only been two weeks,” I say.
I want to move on. Not because I’m cruel and that I didn’t care about
my uncle, but because I have so many goals and aspirations that I can’t
achieve if I’m stuck in my head. I don’t enjoy being down and feeling
helpless. I like being a fun friend. I like laughing and having a good time,
but I feel so guilty about doing that when I’ve just lost one of my closest
family members.
“Grief and happiness can coexist. You don’t have to feel guilty for
wanting to be happy right now. Nobody chooses to sit in grief, it just
happens and that’s okay,” she says gently, as if reading my mind. The way
she talks to me makes me believe her. She tells me things and for some
reason, I believe they’re true. “You can be more than one thing, Scarlett.
You can be brave as well as being scared. You can be confident and have
insecurities. You can be rude or mean, but you can also be kind and selfless
and loving. Really, you can be anything you want.”
I laugh a little. “Are you sure you’re not just saying that because it’s
your job to talk me out of jumping off a cliff?”
Dr. Nelson laughs too, nudging her glasses further up her nose. “No,
I’m not just saying that. You’re a smart girl, Scarlett and you’re feeling a lot
of things right now. The best advice I can give you until our next session is
to feel those feelings. Don’t push them away because they’ll creep up on
you and come crashing down when you least expect it.”
I do my best to take in what she says, to let it truly settle with me. It
turns out that I’ve had this warped perception of therapy for so many years.
I knew I had shit to figure out but saying it aloud really showcased just how
deep those worries go.
As I leave the office, I make a promise to myself, the same thing I’ve
been trying to tell my friends for years, but never thought of applying to
myself.
I’m not going to downplay my feelings. If I feel something, I’m going
to do just that; feel it. Ignoring it just leads to breakdowns in therapist’s
offices on your first sessions and I really don’t want to do that again.

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 32
Evan

“You’re doing it wrong,” Scarlett warns.

We’ve been walking around the library at school for almost an hour,
picking up books to use for references in our final report. Not only do we
have to craft the app, but we also have to create a written report, outlining
how we came up with the idea and how it would work, as well as another
essay about the project as a whole and how it would function as a marketing
device.
Scarlett came up with the idea of scouring through the business library
and taking pictures of pages of books we’ll read later. She’s convinced this
is the most foolproof way to find resources efficiently. Still, each time I
pick up a book she has a problem with whichever I choose.
Each time she brushes past me, her soft silk shirt smooths against my
skin, I feel her touch like electricity. We haven’t touched each other since
that kiss in the rain outside of my house four weeks ago and I’m still
confused as to where we stand.
Every time I look at her, I just want to catch her lips with mine, slip my
tongue into her mouth while my hands do whatever they can to make her
feel good. I just wish I could see into her brain if she’s feeling it too.
She leans against the bookshelf, looking all innocent again with that
black shirt and matching skirt, her blouse unbuttoned enough for me to see
the slight swell of her breasts. Her ankles are crossed, looking at me
accusingly, her fuck-me eyes staring right into mine that I almost forget
how to speak.
 “What am I doing wrong?” I ask playfully, looking at the hardback
book in my hand.
“Everything,” she says, stalking towards me and she pulls it out of my
hand. “Move.”
And I do.
I step out of the way so she can look at the shelf I was scanning. She
runs her slender fingers across the dusty books, the white ribbon in her hair
bobbing as she pulls out a book to read the back. She slides it back into
place, sighing.

♫ Love Is A Bitch - Two Feet

“When will you stop telling me what to do?”

“When you stop letting me,” she mutters. She moves down the aisle
and I follow behind her. “Maybe learn how to read first and I’ll consider it.”
“I can read perfectly fine,” I retort, and she chuckles. I bet if I could see
her face, she’d be rolling her eyes at me. “You’re just a perfectionist.”
She turns to me now, stopping, pressing her back to the bookshelf. She
lifts her chin up. “Oh, I’m the perfectionist?”
I step in closer to her and I watch the way her breathing goes shallow.
The closer I walk into her; she backs up further into the shelf and it wobbles
slightly with her weight.
“Yes,” I say, my voice still low. There’s basically no one here. The only
people I’ve seen have noise cancelling headphones on, tucked into a darker
corner of the library. More privacy for us. For what? I don’t know. But I’m
dying to find out.
“You took two weeks to decide between crocodile green and pickle
green even though they’re the same fucking colour,” she says, holding her
gaze with mine, but I don’t miss the slight tremor in her voice. She’s trying
not to be affected by my proximity, but I want to see her unravel.
“They’re not and you know they’re not,” I say sternly.
“They are.”
“They’re not.”
“They are.”
“They’re not.”
“They-
 I cut her off by swiftly snaking my hands around her hot neck, feeling
her pulse hammering, pulling at her hair, tilting her head further up to mine.
She’s shorter than me as it is, but this is taking it to another level. She
blinks up at me and she licks her pink lips, making my dick twitch. I try my
best to suppress a groan.
“Say it one more time and I’m going to drop you to your knees, work
you up just right until you’re begging for me and see how much you’ll like
to argue then,” I whisper, bringing my face closer to hers. Those brown
eyes never leave mine and I can see the arousal on her face, those perfect
cheeks turning the cutest shade of pink.
She swallows. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Branson,” she
chokes out.
I wouldn’t be able to help it anymore if I tried, so I press my mouth to
hers, stealing the gasp that left her lips as I gripped onto her hair. Her body
instantly responds to mine as my tongue finds a home in her mouth, feeling
the warmth right down to every pressure point in my body. I hear the greedy
hum in the back of her throat at the same time her hands find their way into
my hair, pulling and yanking as if I’m the only thing keeping her alive.
That first kiss we had was insane. The second one? Even better. But
this? This is like fucking outer space. I’m a cynic when it comes to
astrology but fuck me if it doesn’t feel like the stars aligned just for me and
Scarlett at this moment.
I need more of her.
I use both of my hands to firmly grip the side of her face, feeling how
small it is in my hands as I tilt her head back, deepening the kiss. I try to get
more of her, and she lets me, each touch of mine gaining a spark reaction
from her. Her hands loop around my neck, pulling me closer into her and I
let her as she presses her chest against mine. Fuck. Our shirts are both so
thin that I can feel the tips of her nipples pressing against my shirt.
Each time I try to press her further into the bookshelf, she pushes back,
her back arching straight into mine. She’s fighting me for it. Good. I’m
starting to get dizzy just by kissing her. Is it hot in here or is that just us?
Her angry, hard, and wet kisses light a fire within me, and I can’t stop
wanting more of her. I open my eyes for a second.
Big mistake.
 Her eyes are closed, and her cheeks are completely red, her soft
eyelashes resting against them. I’ve never seen her so caught up, messy and
just turned on. She can’t deny the pull between us as much as I’ve tried to. I
lean down so I’m able to kiss along her throat, feeling her heart fluttering
against my mouth.
"Is this what you want me to do, Angel? Do you want me to keep
touching you, teasing you, feeling every inch of your skin until one of us
can't take it anymore and give in? Because if you want to play that game,
you'll be the first to lose."
"No, I wouldn't," she pants.
"No?" I repeat, biting the soft flesh on her neck before smoothing it out
with a kiss. Her grip on my hair tightens. "Tell me stop, Scarlett."
"I- I can't," she stutters.
"Exactly," I murmur. "Are you ready to play this game?"
She nods enthusiastically. “Get on your knees,” I say into her skin, and
she moans quietly. My determined hands roam across the curves of her
waist, down to her hips and back up again until I reach the underside of her
breasts.
“I’m good from here,” she whispers. Of course, she has to make this
difficult.
“Scarlett,” I warn.
“Evan.”
“I said get on your knees,” I say again, tilting my head until I’m face-
to-face with her. She looks confident – proud of herself even. She’s going to
make me work for it, but I’m not a stranger to competition.
“I heard you,” she replies, almost laughing. She leans up off the shelf as
she steps closer into me, while I stand frozen. She tugs on my loose tie,
pulling my face into hers. I brace my hand on the shelf behind her to keep
me from falling into her. “Tell you an even better punishment?” Her voice is
low, but thick and heavy with lust. “You on your knees for me. Because the
way I see it – if you do your job right, you’ll be the one begging me to stop
moaning your name before we get kicked out of here. Would you like that?
Does the thought of us getting caught excite you, Ev?”
This woman is going to kill me, and I think I’m going to let her.
I don’t say anything other than trailing my hand up her bare thigh as
she slowly releases the grip on my tie, a satisfied grin across her face as she
relaxes back into the shelf. She wants me to make her feel good and that’s
exactly what I’m going to do.
She’s a fucking dream.
Every inch of her feels perfect. Like it was designed specifically for
me. Her body is so smooth that I ache just by touching her. She feels like
she could just melt into my hands.
I grip onto her inner thigh, knowing it will drive her crazy before
skimming the outside until I reach her round ass. I knead her ass with my
palm as I press a kiss to the side of her neck and she sighs, finally relaxing
more. She needs this just as much as I do.
“God, you’re fucking perfect,” I whisper.
“I know,” she replies, laughing.
I love that she’s confident. She doesn’t need me to tell her she’s pretty
or that she’s doing a good job because she knows it. But I know it turns her
on to be praised, to feel like she’s doing something right. I could tell from
the second I helped her play pool.
“You’re going to have to be quiet, Scar. Do you think you can do that
for me?” I ask as both of my hands search around her ass, her arms resting
on my shoulders.
“I’m starting to think I won’t have a problem keeping quiet at this-”
Her words cut off when I slipped my hand around from her ass to her
panties where she’s already wet and waiting for me. I’ve dreamt about this
for fucking years, but nothing is compared to the real thing. “Oh my god,”
she whines, her voice trembling.
“What was that, pretty girl?” I murmur into the side of her neck, my
fingers light against the fabric of her panties. “It’s funny, actually. You were
about to shit talk me, but you’re the one who is this wet and I’ve not even
done anything yet.”
“On. Your. Knees. Now,” she demands, her breathing choppy. I tease
her again and she gasps, tilting her head back and it gives me the perfect
view of her pretty throat, all flushed and hot that I can’t help but kiss her
there.
“You know what? I think my view from here is pretty good,” I say,
repeating her words back to her.
“I’d prefer my view to be of your face between my thighs with your
mouth glistening. How about that?” she argues, urging my shoulders down
as I slowly sink to the floor. I run my hands down her thighs as I go down
until I’m kneeling in front of her.
I want to die in this position.
“You really have a way with words, Angel,” I murmur, stroking my
thumb on the inside of her thigh. “You’re a smart girl, Scarlett. Very smart,
in fact. But you’ve got to promise me you’ll be good and keep quiet, so we
don’t get kicked out.”
I lift her skirt up, using her panties to rub against her pretty pussy as I
swallow, trying to keep my composure.
“Ev,” she whimpers. Not the answer I was looking for, but the sound
sends waves pulsing straight down to my dick. We could get caught any
minute, but for some reason that thought only makes me want this more
because I’ll be the one pushing her over the edge, and I want to see how far
she’ll go.
“Scarlett,” I press, my tone light and teasing as I look up at her. She’s
not looking at me, though. Her head is tilted up, her hands gripping onto the
lower bookshelves behind her as her ass presses into it. I rub the fabric
against her again, urging her to look at me. She sighs, shuddering, finally
looking down Her tongue darts out, running against her bottom lip, her
chest heaving.
She's a fucking sight.
“I’ll be good,” she pants. “I promise.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I reply. I tug on the waistband of her
panties. “Can I take these off now?” She nods eagerly and I take my time
easing the material off her until it falls to her ankles.
I’ve not fooled around with many girls and Scarlett has a lot more
experience than me, so I try not to let my anxieties show as I swipe my
thumb over her swollen clit. Her thighs shake at the sensation, her whole
body being completely responsive to me. So sensitive. I run two fingers
over her flesh again, loving the soft, needy, and sweet sounds coming out of
her mouth.
She needs me to do more and I'm sure as hell going to give it to her.
I tap on my shoulder. “Put your leg up here, sweetheart.”
“No,” she pants. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask, still teasing her while goosebumps spread across her
legs.
 “Because it’ll feel too good,” she admits. Pride warms my chest. I’m
hardly doing anything to her. Fuck. It turns me on just how easily she can
come undone. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, Evan, but…Oh
my God.”
I laugh a little. “It’s because you’ve been dreaming about this, Angel. I
can tell. You’ve wanted me as much as I want you and now, you’re finally
having it,” I explain. She doesn’t argue. She does hook her leg over my
shoulder though, her underwear hanging on the foot on the ground, giving
me the perfect angle and view of her bare pussy.
I can’t help myself anymore, so I collect her arousal with my finger,
circling her clit before slowly pushing one of my fingers inside of her.
We both freeze.
This is it. We’ve officially crossed that line and I couldn’t be happier
about finally doing what I’ve been thinking about for years.
I know how big my fingers are and I can tell just how much I fill her by
the way she clenches around me, her body lurching forward a little. I pump
my finger in and out of her in a practised motion, watching the way her
body reacts to mine.
Her leg trembles on my shoulder and I use it as ammunition to press my
mouth to her.
Our reactions are both the same.
Pure and utter pleasure.
Everything about her tastes so good to me. So fucking sweet. I lay my
tongue flat against her, her whole body trembles as she grips onto the shelf,
causing it to shake. She’s doing as I told, keeping quiet, but what’s worse is
that she’s letting out these soft, half-moans, whimpering and gasping, which
only spurs me on more.
I continue pumping in and out of her, hitting the spots that I know will
tip her over, dying to find out how her body will react when she finally
does. My tongue moves seamlessly with my fingers, sucking and licking
like I’m starved. For her, I have been. Wanting someone – no, needing them
– and then finally having them is a different kind of euphoria.
And she gives everything to me. Every moan. Every whimper. Every
tremble of her body. Every shake of the bookshelf because she’s gripping it
too hard. Every fucking thing. And I take it all happily.
 “Evan, I don’t think I can…'” she cries as I push in and out of her
mercifully, her body arching forward. She’s not being vocal, which is good,
but she keeps shaking the shelves which is just as bad, if not, worse.
“You can, baby. Just relax,” I whisper into her flesh, the sound vibrating
against her. As the words leave my mouth, I hear her slap her hand across
her mouth, her other hand gripping onto my hair as she climaxes with a
groan into her hand.
Her body shakes as she comes down from the high and I gingerly pull
my fingers out of her as she moans softly. Jesus, she’s a masterpiece. She
slowly lowers her leg from my shoulder, and I help her slip her panties back
on as I stand to my feet.
She avoids eye contact with me as she straightens out her blouse as if I
didn’t just wreck her and give her the best orgasm of her life. Her face is
sweaty, hairs sticking to her forehead and her cheeks are the reddest I’ve
ever seen. I can’t help myself, so I stroke her cheek, her face resting in my
hand. She melts into it for a second, her chest still heaving as she lets me
hold her.
“That was just…” She sighs, her eyes closing slightly. She doesn’t need
to finish her sentence because I know exactly what she means.
“Yeah. It was,” I reply. She tilts her head out of my hands, and I smooth
her sweaty hair out of her face. “I knew you’d be a good girl for me.”
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the satisfied smile on her face. She swats
my hand from her face, turning away from me. “Let’s just pick out a book
and get out of here.”

OceanofPDF.com
 33
Scarlett

I’ve not been to many funerals in my life.

As a kid I went to my mom’s parents' joint funeral, but I don’t
remember it. I remember the bleak colours and the crying, but that’s about
it. I remember that I had to stay by my family the whole day and there was
a party after.
I went to two in the same week for Lucas and Sara, even though there
were no bodies to be buried. I felt like I dissociated throughout most of the
service anyway. It’s not that I didn’t care, but more that it was hard to feel.
With my grandparents, I felt something so painful for them and I remember
crying because everybody else was. But for Lucas and Sara, mostly because
they were extended family, I didn’t feel much. Or anything, really.
I either feel things at full volume or I feel nothing at all. For Gio, I’m in
the middle of those two extremities. He meant so much to me, but hearing
the way everybody is talking about him like he tried to murder my dad, it’s
hard not to feel a bit of anger towards him. All I can think is that he
manipulated me into believing he is in danger, but he really was behind it
the whole time. It explains his sketchy behaviour at the restaurant and at his
house.
The service was nice, though. Quiet. Even though we held the service
in LA because of the company and where other family members were
buried, tons of people showed up. So much so that there were people
standing outside the church waiting until we went to the cemetery. Both
girls came with me for support and Evan did too, sitting with his dad in one
of the far corners of the church.
 It’s good he didn’t sit anywhere near me because of what happened in
the library. I don’t think I’m ready to look at him without my thoughts
turning filthy and now is really, not the time. I still have no fucking clue
how he managed to make me feel so good. Everything he did was so
overwhelming, and it felt so... right. Which is fucking terrifying.
Evan and his dad are both wearing blacked out shades. His dad, Sam, is
the exact double of Evan. I don’t know what his mom looks like, but I
doubt he has any of her features because of how alike he and his dad look.
They’ve both got that sly smirk, blonde hair, sharp jaws, and a glare to kill.
Sam’s a handsome man and he doesn’t look all that old. He could even pass
for Evan’s brother. I let myself wonder if Evan will look that good when
he’s older.
As we gathered around the burial spot in the cemetery amongst other
Voss family members, Wren, and Kennedy by my side, each of them linked
their arms in mine, I knew something was wrong before it happened.
The pastor was still reading his ‘There is a time for everything’ bible
verse, Gio was already lowered in the ground, but not covered, when I
locked my eyes with him. I saw the realisation that he’d been caught dawn
on him the exact same time I put the pieces together.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I told the girls.
“Okay, we’ll be by the car when you’re ready,” Kennedy said,
squeezing my hand before I slipped away from her.
So that’s how I ended up following a guy who looked suspiciously
familiar in the middle of my uncle's burial.
The second I laid eyes on him; he dropped his gaze to the ground and
bolted. If he is who I think he is, why is running from me? I mean, people
don’t usually come back from the dead, but if it’s not him then he doesn’t
need to be running.
It rained yesterday so my heels are getting stuck in the mud as I try to
keep up with him. There are not many places to hide in a cemetery when
the graves aren’t big enough to hide a six-four man in a black hoodie and
jeans.
“Listen,” I shout. I’m only a few paces behind him now, far away from
the burial. “Can you stop running? I can only go so far in heels.”
Obviously, that doesn’t stop him. Why would it? He’s only come back
from the dead. I try to keep up with him again, but he’s picked up the pace,
now darting along the path. Only it’s cobblestones and my shoe keep
getting stuck in the stone.
“Shit,” I groan when I trip over, falling to my knees. The stones hit my
knees and my hands graze the concrete, stinging both my knees and palms.
As I go to stand, brushing off my skirt, he’s turned back around now,
standing right in front of me. He looks exactly the same; a full head of hair,
messy and untamed beard, looking the same as the picture they used at his
funeral service.
“Lucas?”
I knew saying his name out loud would make this all so real. For a
second, I thought maybe I was going crazy. That I had made it all up in my
head. I didn’t expect the sick feeling I have in my stomach as he looked at
me. He reaches out, to steady me maybe, but I take a step back.
“Did anyone follow you out here?” he asks. I look back and we’re a
good five minute walk away from the burial. I turn back to him, swallowing
as I shake my head.
“What- What are you doing?” I ask. I try closing my eyes and opening
them again, hoping that will make him disappear. This isn’t happening.
There is no way this is happening.
“Listen, Scarlett, I know you’re probably confused, but you have to
understand that-”
“You’re alive, Lucas. Like, you’re living and breathing right in front of
me, of course I’m confused,” I say, tripping over my words as I take another
scan of his body. Yep. He’s right in front of me. Alive. Not a corpse the
police couldn’t find. He’s a real person with a beating heart and he’s talking
to me.
“As long as no one sees you, you need to go back. I’ve been trying to
keep a low profile,” he explains, glancing behind me. I just stare up at him,
words failing me. He sighs, rolling his eyes. I need an explanation, but my
brain still hasn’t fully processed what I’m seeing, so words are the last thing
that can come out of my mouth right now. “Look, only certain people know
that I’m alive and I shouldn't be here, but I had to see Gio. I can’t believe
what happened to him. In hiding or not, he’s still my best friend.”
I nod, trying to understand him, but I’m still stuck on the part that he’s
alive. I went to his funeral. My dad cleared out his office. My mom lights a
candle for him on every anniversary and his birthday. He was gone.
 But he’s not.
“Scarlett?”
“Yes,” I say, shaking my head a little to look at him better. “Yes. Okay.
I’ll go back.”
He nods at me, and I turn back around, mumbling to myself because…
What the fuck? There are so many people here, all of us packed in like
sardines.
I doubt anyone saw him, but I did. Sometimes I notice the most
peculiar of things and that just happened to be one of them. I get why he
would run away, but I need to know who the few people are that know he’s
alive and why they’ve been hiding it from the rest of the company.
When I get back to the burial area, I walk behind the girls, heading
straight towards Evan, who’s standing with his dad behind a huge group of
people. They’ve both got their hands in their pockets, staring at the ground,
looking identical. I’m panting by the time I’m in front of them.
“Ev,” I say, gripping onto his arm so I don’t fall into him. He looks
down to me, his eyes a little sad and tired.
“Yes, Angel?” he asks. His dad raises his eyebrows at the nickname and
my gaze snags on him for a second. What is in the Branson genes? They
both look so picture perfect. Not the time, Scarlett.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I whisper, glancing back at his dad
nervously. He smiles that Branson smirk and I do a double take before
looking over at Evan. He must notice the weirdness of me sort-of meeting
his dad for the first time because he also looks at him.
“Go talk to your girlfriend, boy. Seems like it’s important,” his dad
says, still smiling.
Evan rolls his eyes as he smoothly removes my hand from his arm only
to thread his fingers through mine as we walk in the opposite direction. His
touch is so firm, yet everything about him is so sweet. He squeezes my
hand as we walk through the crowd of people.
“Why does your dad think I’m your girlfriend?” I ask curiously,
looking up at him. But he’s not looking at me. He just starts to walk faster,
tugging me along with him.
“Don't mind him,” he says easily. When we’re further away from the
crowd, we stop at a large tree, and he pulls me behind it so we’re out of
view. “What did you want to talk about?”
 I’m suddenly so hyper-aware of his presence that I almost forget what I
was meant to say. His black suit is doing nothing but aid these filthy
thoughts I’ve had since he went down on me in the library. Neither is the
slightly angry look on his face. I shake my head as if it will get rid of the
thoughts. I only realise we’re still holding hands when he brushes his thumb
against mine and it brings me back down to earth.
“Do you remember when I told you that Gio hasn’t been feeling
himself since his wife died in a plane crash along with his friend?” He nods.
“Well, he’s here.” I wait for his reaction. For what? I don’t know. He
doesn’t say anything, but he swallows. Hard. “Did you hear what I said,
Branson? My family friend just came back from the dead and you’ve got
nothing to say to that? Do you realise how fucking insane that is? And he’s
just here…At my uncle's funeral.”
My mini ramble consists of more hand gestures than it does actual
words. Evan just blinks at me. He slips his hand from mine, and I try to
reach for it again, needing his warmth, but he doesn’t let me take it.
“Scarlett,” he says quietly. Once. He places his hands on my shoulders,
his eyes dropping to the floor. I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what’s
going on. The tone of his voice feels like a weight has dropped onto my
stomach.
“Why are you talking to me like that?” I ask, worry coating my tone.
My heartbeat starts to pick up, but I don’t know why. He keeps his eyes on
the ground, and I kneel down slightly, urging his head up. Even when he’s
looking at me, he’s not really there.
“I already knew, Scar,” he says. I don’t understand the severity of his
words, but I feel it in my stomach. It’s that feeling you get where you don’t
know what’s wrong, but your body already knows. It’s like I just stepped
off a rollercoaster. He swallows thickly, blinking up to the sky, his hands
still gripping onto my shoulders. “My dad just told me and pointed him out
to me. I was going to tell you after the funeral, but you saw him already.”
“Ev, what aren’t you telling me?” I ask. He finally looks at me, sighing.
Those green eyes shimmer with something I can’t quite place. It’s
something so far, yet so close that I don’t think I even want to go.
“My dad asked me to get involved with you to find out what was really
happening. They wanted to be the first to find out before the scandal went
public, but then Gio died and they realised that it wasn’t a good enough
story to tell, so we ended up with nothing,” he explains. His face has gone
pale, as if he’s forcing himself to tell me. Today has been weird enough.
Each one of his words feel like daggers straight to my heart, but I tell
myself to be strong.
“So, you used me?” I ask, my voice sounding foreign.
“You need to know that I didn’t want to hurt you, Angel. I would never
let anything happen to you or let my dad say anything harmful about you or
your family, no matter how bad it got.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I whisper, my chest heaving. I let out a
shuddery exhale, trying to regulate my breathing. I need to stay calm. I
can’t spiral out. I just need to understand.
“Yes, it looks like I used you to get what my dad wanted, but
everything that happened with the project was pure coincidence. I didn’t
plan that, I swear. As things started to get too real, I stopped doing it for
them. I did it for us. Because I wanted to help you find closure. Everything
you told me was because you trusted me, and I kept it to myself.”
“You really expect me to trust you, right now?” He doesn’t respond
because that’s when I start to feel the hot, angry tears running down my
face. I can’t cry right now. He can’t see how badly this hurts. I wipe my
tears quickly, stepping away from him so he can’t hold onto my shoulder
anymore. “Did you kiss me just to get closer to me? Was all that fake? You,
saying those things, touching me like that… Did you not mean any of it? I
had a feeling it was weird how you were being so nice to me, and I was
stupid enough to believe you.”
He steps closer to me. I take a step back. “I didn’t kiss you for any
other reason that I wanted to, that I’ve been dying to do since I met you. I
care about you, Scarlett, more than I have ever cared about anyone. I
respect you and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You don't do things like that to the people you care about, Evan,” I say
through a sob, shoving at his chest as he tries to close the distance between
us again. He looks more upset now, his face suddenly red. “I asked for one
thing from you. I forgave you for what you said. I wanted to be your friend,
for God’s sake and you ruined that.”
He runs his hand through his hair. “You’re right. I fucked up and I’m
sorry. I don’t want to argue with you, but I don’t want to make you upset,
and I can’t bear to look at you cry,” he says thickly. He turns to walk away,
but I go after him, pulling on his arm, turning him back to me.
“No,” I warn. He heaves out a breath, looking around. “No,” I say
again, quieter. “You’re going to argue with me, Evan, because that’s what
we do. You fight with me and you’re going to fight for me. So, explain
yourself. Now. Because I really don’t want to think I was stupid enough to
have trusted you, so you better give me a good enough reason or – so help
me God – I will make your life a living hell and I will never speak to you
again.”
I want to have a conversation. I don’t want whatever we built to
dissipate just because he did something stupid. I’ve done countless stupid,
manipulative, and ridiculous things in my life. I wasted so much time hating
him without hearing him out that first week at NU. I’m not about to do it
again. Not after the way he’s held me, taken care of me and spoken to me in
the last few weeks. This isn’t like the other guys I’ve hooked up with. This
is him. I refuse to believe that was all for nothing.
He runs both of his hands down his face. “Scar.”
“Explain yourself. Now,” I say, rubbing the last of the tears from my
face. I take a deep breath because I need to be strong. I can’t keep missing
out on possibly great things because I’m scared of people hurting me. If he
hurts me, he’s going to fix it.
“I was desperate, Scarlett, you’ve got to understand that. I was cut off
from my family after what happened with Cat, and this was the only way
my dad said he would let me back in. You probably won't get it because
your family is different. You might not get along, but you love each other,
and you show it. I've always wanted that - a family, a relationship where
love and intimacy wasn't so unheard of. I thought, maybe if I get back in, I
could try and get that for my family, too. But it got to a point where I didn’t
even realise that I was doing it for them because I wanted to help you. I
gave him half-assed explanations because I wanted us to figure it out
because…” He lets out a shaky breath, his green eyes looking directly into
mine. “Because we’re a team, Scar. Me and you. We do things together. We
might fight and argue, but at the end of the day, it’s just me and you. It
always has been.”
I flicker my gaze to the ground for a second, needing the short time to
collect myself before I get completely lost and transfixed in his eyes again.
His words mean more to me than anyone else’s. His words, his actions, are
what are going to keep us together in whatever way that is.
“You could have told me, and we could have figured it out, you know?”
“I tried to tell you, but then Gio-”
I cut him off. “You had so many chances, Ev. So many. When we were
smoking, you could have mentioned it. The countless times when we
worked in silence could have made a perfect opportunity. When we
kissed… There’s been so many opportunities.”
“I was scared, Scar. I was fucking terrified. You already hated me, and
we were starting to get somewhere, and I didn’t want to push you away
again. I know that’s exactly what I’ve done, but you’ve got to see that I
didn’t want to do that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I just want to
be close to you. All the time."

♫ Bloom by The Paper Kites

I believe him. From the way he’s treated me, regardless of his initial
intentions, I know he would never try to hurt me. I know that he’s been
trying to prove himself to me, to show me who he really is. I didn’t believe
him the first time and it gives me all the reasons to want to trust him now.
People have used me before for their own personal gain, but from the look
in his eyes, the pain in his voice, I can tell that all he wanted was his family
back and a chance at a real one. He doesn't need my money. He doesn't need
my fame. From the way I've treated him, he's had limited options to get me
to like him.
That’s the reason why I walk closer to him and as his hands fall from
his neck, I wrap my arms around his middle, resting my head on his chest. I
feel the exact moment he relaxes, where his heartbeat steadies and his arms
wrap around me.
Sometimes, no matter how much he makes me want to rip out my hair,
I want to be close to him. It feels like no matter how far apart we can try to
get from each other, how much we can piss each other off, there’s always
this string tugging us closer together. Needing each other. Even if that was
just to argue or shout, we've always needed this. Each other.
“Are we going to be okay?” he asks into my hair.
 “I still think I’m going to need some time to really mull it over, but... I
don’t know,” I say truthfully. I want, more than anything, to give him the
second chance he deserves from the hell I’ve put him through. But I also
need to get my emotions and feelings in check. Weirdly enough, therapy has
been helping with that and I want it to continue.
“Are you angry with me?” he asks, and his strangled voice breaks my
heart. I look up at him, resting my chin on his chest. I watch his throat
contract as he swallows before looking down at me.
“I don’t think I could give you a proper answer to that right now,” I
admit. He nods, finally looking down at me. He’s going to have to
understand that and be patient with me while I figure this out. He presses
the softest kiss to my forehead, and I melt into his touch, sighing a true
breath of relief.
“Is that- Can I still- Was that…” he mutters.
“It’s okay,” I say, resting my head on his chest again, turning my face
away from him. “I want us to be mature about this, Evan. I don’t want to
spiral. I’m so sick of doing that. You did something bad, you apologised,
but I’m going to need to take a step back for a bit to figure my shit out.”
“Okay,” he says, softly, holding onto me tighter. “That’s okay. Anything
you want.”

OceanofPDF.com
 34
Scarlett

Sometimes, your best friends can help you so much. They can give you
insane advice and make you realise you’ve done something stupid. They
can tell you over and over, potentially lying to you to convince you you’re a
fantastic person. Or they’re like my friends, who go back on their word
every two seconds as well as changing the topic.
I came to them for advice on the Evan situation. They don’t know that
we kissed. Three times. They also don’t know that I let him eat me out in
the library and how much I fucking loved it. Those are the kind of
memories I like to keep to myself for a late night and a battery-powered
friend. If I told them, their advice would definitely change, and they’d be
gloating about how right they were. They said that breaching that sexual
barrier would smooth things out, but it hasn’t. It only makes me want him
more. I itch to be near him again. To touch him again. To have him whisper
dirty things in my hair. To tell me I’m his good girl. It wasn’t like kicking a
habit. It’s just like starting one.
I explained to them how we got closer and how he was in it for his
family. Still, saying those words aloud did not make me feel any more
resentment towards him. In fact, it helped me understand him.
His family is a mess and he wanted to fix it. Was the way he did it
unconventional? Yes. But it also brought us together in a new way.
Sometimes I could see right through him, and I never saw an evil bone in
his body, and I just have to trust that. I just have to trust him.
 As soon as I started crying when I went back to them at the burial,
Wren called her dad and booked us a flight to Vegas so we could spend a
week away escaping. Since Wren’s dad is a hotelier, he would take me and
Wren on trips to his new hotels across the country where we’d spend the
whole time at spas and feeling older than we actually were. As soon as
Kennedy joined the group, she came along too and then we started to get
into cheesy rom-coms, eating room service and staying up past our bedtime,
talking about everything and nothing.
That’s why it feels so natural to be sitting in a California king sized
bed, all in our robes, our hair tied into a towel, The Proposal playing on the
flatscreen while we eat a pizza. We’ve been going in circles for the last hour
and I’m not sure we’re getting anywhere with my current situation.
“I mean, it’s not like you guys made out or anything. That would be a
lot worse. The physical stuff is always harder,” Kennedy says through a
mouthful, wiping the grease away with her palm.
“Yeah, that would be insane,” I say, trying to laugh a little. Wren
studies me curiously, but I drop my gaze from her, not letting her figure it
out. I take another bite of the pizza. “But.” I add, before swallowing. “I can
see where he’s coming from and why he did what he did, but I also know
that he would never want to intentionally hurt me. He’s proved that to me
more than once.”
I think back to the number of times he’s helped me without asking.
How he doesn’t complain. How he does things willingly. Just because. He’s
never asked anything of me. He doesn’t invalidate my feelings when I feel
like doing it. He encourages me and makes me feel capable even when
sometimes I don’t.
“You like him, don’t you?” Ken says, easily as if she’s got me all
figured out. Maybe she has. When I don’t respond as I feel my face crowd
with heat, she starts giggling. “Oh my god. You liiikkkeee hiiimm.”
I push her playfully in the shoulder and she breaks our little circle by
toppling over onto the bed. She’s been rooting for us to sort out our frenemy
relationship and now she’s getting what she wanted. She’s still laughing like
an evil genius as she leans up on her elbows.
“So what?” I try to say it casually, but it’s hard to do when it feels like
my whole body is on fire. Every time I think about him, everything he’s
done for me, everything he’s said to me, it’s impossible to feel cool, calm,
and collected. I feel the opposite. I most certainly have the hots for Evan
Branson.
What is life?
“So what?!” Wren repeats, basically shrieking. She holds my stare.
“I’m not saying to over analyse it. But babe... You always tell us not to
invalidate our feelings, but you’re about to do that, so don’t.”
I sigh, knowing she’s right. When she tried to deny her feelings for
Miles, I told her not to. I didn’t tell her to confess her love for him, but to
let herself feel how she’s feeling. Maybe I need to do that too. But God,
that’s terrifying. Being attracted to someone is one thing. But caring about
them, wanting to see them happy, wanting them all the time… That's a new
one for me and weirdly exactly how I feel about Evan.
“Okay,” I say, sighing and they both smile wide, grinning ear-to-ear so I
continue. “He’s kind to me, he listens, he brings me food, he’s not bad
looking, he-”
“How long is this list?” Kennedy asks, cutting me off as she narrows
her eyes at me, smirking. I twist my lips, pulling them into my mouth as I
shake my head.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“There’s your answer,” she says with finality, her elbows buckling as
she lies back down, her towel coming undone, unleashing her wild hair.
Wren twists the belt loop of her robe between her fingers as she says
quietly, “What he did was messed up, Scar. We know that. I’m trying to be
optimistic here and isn’t it kind of a blessing in disguise? If he never
approached you for the project, you wouldn’t have come up with such a
cool idea. The app is amazing so far and it could honestly make you famous
if you two continued it. You wouldn’t have been able to find out what
happened to your dad, and you wouldn’t have broken that barrier that was
keeping you two apart. You just needed a shove.”
She ends her explanation with a shrug, almost scared of what I’m going
to say next. I tilt my head back, taking in a breath to mull over her idea.
“I don’t like the way he did it. Out of every way he could have made a
move to be my friend, to let him in, he chose the one that hurt the most,” I
reply.
Technically, nobody got hurt as bad as it could’ve been, but it still
stings. His family has nothing on mine, so it’s not like we’ll go down for
anything. Reporters are taking the situation with Gio into their own hands,
but since he’s gone it's easy for them to dismiss him as a traitor. Weighing
the pros and cons like I've been taught, only puts him more and more in a
better position, making me want to give him a chance.
“You don’t have to like the process to enjoy the outcome. If you like
him now, if you want him, in whatever way, lead with that. What happened
is in the past. Believe me, I could have prevented mine and Miles’s break
up if I just spoke to him. If I trusted him.”
I nod, remembering how hard her breakup with Miles was. Their
communication wasn’t the greatest, but as they started to figure it out, they
came back stronger than ever. Now they’re basically attached at the hip.
Sometimes I think Miles doesn’t breathe when she’s not around him.
They’re always holding hands, he’s always touching her waist, her hair,
basically anything he can get his hands on when she’s next to him.
“Do you trust Evan?” Kennedy asks, leaning back up now.
“I did. I was learning to and then this happened,” I respond.
“He's telling you the truth now, though, isn’t he?” I nod. He has to be.
He knows how badly this has affected me and I could see in his eyes, in his
voice, that he wants me to trust him for real. But sometimes those things
take time. “Is that not enough?”
“It can be,” I whisper. “I don't want to be in my head all the time. It’s
fucking exhausting. I know that everything that happened in high school
made that hard, but I don’t want to go back to that place. I know deep down
that Evan’s a good person.”
Wren’s face lights up as if I’ve told her the greatest news ever. Another
Scarevan supporter as she likes to call us. She pokes me in the leg.
“He always has been. You’ve just been too stubborn to notice it.”
“I know,” I sigh, feeling ridiculous and hopeful at the same time.
“Okay,” Kennedy exclaims, standing up from the bed. “Pool time!”

* * *

♫ What Was I Made For? By Billie Eilish

We get down to the infinity pool and it’s empty for once. It’s pretty late
into the night and the glow coming from the lights in the pool is the only
thing keeping it bright. Bright stars shine in the sky, making everything that
has happened feel so small and insignificant.
After timing Kennedy’s laps in the pool, we all sit in the jacuzzi.
Timing her laps has been a requirement for our friendship. If there’s a
body of water she can swim in, we have to see if she can beat her personal
record that she had back home.
We all lean our heads against the sides, breathing in the chilly air whilst
also feeling the warmth of the tub. We’re well into the middle of December
now and it’s freezing, but there’s still that warmth coming from the jacuzzi
that I hardly notice.
“Can I ask you guys something? And you’ve got to be honest with me,”
Kennedy whispers. I keep my head back, not wanting to break the spell of
this moment, here with my girls.
“Always,” Wren says. I hear Ken take in a deep breath, the exhale sort
of shaky.
“In five years from now, when we’re done with school, we’ll hopefully
all have a job, do you think we’ll still be friends? And I mean friends like
this. Friends who complain about my stress induced pee breaks, friends who
cry over edits together, friends who take last minute trips to Las Vegas
because one of us is going through a hard time. Friends like that.”
The weight of her words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I try not to
think about the after period of our lives. Living together has brought us
closer in so many ways and I always wonder what’s going to happen after.
Miles and Wren will most likely move in together and maybe me and Ken
will be left on our own.
What then? Will we still use The Whiteboard for emergency meetings?
Will I still pick her up from Florentino’s, even though it’s only a fifteen
minute walk from our apartment. Will it even still be our apartment? Will
Kennedy move out and go back home to South Carolina? Will I be on my
own?
There’s a time, like now, where our bond feels like it transcends above
space and time. As if we would exist even if we weren’t the entities we are
now. Even if we were rocks, or stars, or pieces of dirt, it would always be us
three. Wren Hackerly, Kennedy Wynter and Scarlett Voss. My girls. My
sisters.
 “Of course, we will, Ken,” I say, needing so desperately to believe it.
As the words leave my mouth, I cling onto it, knowing that we all need it.
“Why would you ask that?”
She sighs. “I don’t know. Sometimes when we have these great
moments, I can’t help but think they won’t last. Like we’ll burn each other
out.”
“I could never get sick of you guys,” Wren says, laughing a little. “I’ll
be honest. I thought I would want to kill you all by the second week of
living together, but I didn’t. I think it’s because I know that even when
things get hard, these are the kind of moments I’m going to cherish forever.
No matter what happens.”
“See,” Kennedy says, almost angrily. “That. The ‘no matter what
happens’ bullshit. We can’t do that. We can’t accept the idea that we’ll
eventually drift apart. I need you girls. If you’re going through it, we’re all
going to go through it. Together. I want us to grow old together, and have
our kids grow old together.”
“I want that too,” I say.
“Me too,” Wren adds. I lean my head up, looking between them both
and my heart just feels so…full. So complete. “You guys are my forever
friends.”
“Forever friends?” Ken asks.
“Until my teeth rot and my boobs sag,” I say in a grandma voice.
“Until my backs crackin’ and my toenails are scraping against the
floor,” Kennedy adds, making it seem like she’s gonna be a hobo when
she’s older. Odd, but great.
“Until I'm dead and gone and buried,” Wren says.
“You just had to bring Taylor into it, didn’t you?” Kennedy says
laughing.
“It was instinct. She’ll never go out of style.”
Then we’re all laughing again at the reference. Kennedy’s gripping
onto the tub, laughing hysterically. Wrens wheezing and I’m just grinning
ear to ear because I know what they mean. We will always have each other.
I had always wanted a sister growing up, someone I could turn to for
advice, but I know I don’t need one. I’ve always had two of them.
Forever friends.
OceanofPDF.com
 35
Evan

Leaving Scarlett that day was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I had
to do it. No matter how shitty these past few weeks have been without
seeing her, only exchanging texts about the project, I know it’s for the
better. She needs time and I’m sure as hell going to give it to her.
She’s right. I did a stupid thing. So, I’m facing the consequences, which
means fucking my fist to the images of what we did in the library and
having my dad berate me over the phone. The latter, happening more
frequently than I’d like to admit. I can't even go into the kitchen to get a
drink without my phone ringing. I know better to answer it, or he will drive
here himself to talk to me.
“We’ve got nothing now, Evan. Do you hear me? Nothing. Nada,” my
dad shouts. I hear the glass he’s most likely got in his hand slamming
against the table, and I flinch.
“Jesus, stop shouting,” I say, resting my phone on my shoulder wedging
it with my ear so I can open the fridge. I filled it the other day, but Xavier
and Miles eat like animals, so we’re already in need of a refill. I pluck out a
protein shake and shut it.
“Was it worth it?” my dad asks. I sigh, moving to look out the window,
only to look into the backyard, remembering the day we watched Brooklyn
Nine-Nine episodes in the gazebo and everything that happened after. I
shake my head, desperate to get rid of the longing feeling in my chest.
“Was what worth it?” I ask.
He groans. “Dropping us for her. Because I sure as hell can’t see any
benefits when this story is tied up too neatly and we’ve got nothing out of
it. The only upside is that Mateo is still comatose.”
I don’t see how that’s an upside, but I think better than to argue.
“Yes, I think it was worth it, dad. She’s an amazing girl and she doesn’t
deserve to be treated the way I treated her. I’ve spent so long trying to get
her to notice me and I fucked up and I want to fix it. Even if that means
you’re still cutting me off.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? You could keep digging without her
knowing,” he suggests. Just the thought of it makes my stomach turn. I
don’t want to ever be the reason she’s crying again. Ever. And I’m going to
make that promise to her over and over because I don’t want her to hurt
because of me.
“And lie to her again? I’m good,” I mutter, turning away from the bleak
backyard to lean against the sink. “Look, I’m not expecting you to
understand it, but dad, she is quite literally the perfect person. My perfect
person. I hate what I did, and I want to make it up to her. The mystery is
solved, and I've got a grade to get. So, I'm going to drop it and I'm going to
try and get the girl. Is that cool?” He doesn’t say anything other than a
groan. Jesus, I sound like a lovesick puppy now. “Good. Now stop calling
me, you freak.”
I close my eyes for a second, finally being able to breathe. I still have
no idea how exactly I'm going to get the girl, but saying it aloud has helped.
There's nothing I want more than to get her to notice me again. To get her to
let me be there for her, be good for her, all the time. Not just sometimes
when she’s feeling vulnerable, but every day.
“Who are you calling a freak?” Miles asks, walking into the kitchen.
He’s topless, of course.
“My dad,” I say, rubbing at my temples.
“Oh,” he replies. He opens the fridge, only to stare at it as he says,
“Hey, I’m actually kinda bummed about what happened with you and
Scarlett.”
“What are you talking about? Nothing happened.”
I'm in denial, clearly. She said she’s going to take time and we’re gonna
go back to talking — or arguing — again. That's all he needs to know. He
doesn’t know about what our relationship was like before and he doesn’t
need to either. He’s a loyal friend, but he also talks too much. If he knew we
were fooling around, he’d most definitely tell his girlfriend.
 “Right…” he says, clearly unconvinced. He pulls out a can of soda,
shutting the fridge door before leaning against it, staring at his shoes as he
twists the can in his hand. “Well, Wren said you’ve not been speaking,
which is saying something considering you used to argue all the time. I
don’t know the full details, but sort it out, okay? You guys might not always
get on, but you’re like my family and I don’t want to lose that because of a
stupid fall out.”
As much as I give him a hard time, living here isn’t so bad. The nights
when we’re all home and their girlfriends aren’t over, we tolerate each
other. We can put on a good movie and just hang out. Or we play a game of
pool in the den or a stupid drinking game. I act like I hate it, but secretly,
I’ve always wanted brothers.
“I know,” I sigh. “I'm trying here, Davis.”
He nods thoughtfully before that mischievous smirk takes over his
face. “You know… I could teach you a few things. You can learn how to
grovel.”
I close my eyes for a second at his stupidity. “And how do I do that?”
He cracks open the soda and my eyes pop open. “So, say Wrenny’s mad
at me because I turned up late to dinner or I forgot her sister's birthday.
What do you think I should do?”
“Apologise and wear a watch?” I say. It’s the most natural thing to do.
How else are you supposed to be forgiven?
“Right, but you’ve also got to factor in a few other things,” he explains,
going full-on teacher mode. He stands up straighter, talking with his hands.
“Firstly, I'd apologise, give her a mind-shattering orgasm, apologise again
and maybe do something that she likes. Like reading a book she likes. You
know, showing her that I’m interested in what she likes.”
I snort. “You think the best way to get Scarlett to forgive me is to give
her a mind shattering orgasm?” I mean, I’ve done it before, but he doesn’t
know that.
“Well, I guess it’s different for you. you guys hate each other,” he
mutters before sipping his soda innocently.
“Can you stop saying that? I don’t hate her, and I never have,” I snap,
sick of these accusations. I get it. It seems that way because of the way
she’s treated me and the way I’ve played along, but for once, I’d like
somebody to see that I’ve liked her for as long as I can remember.
 “Well, you act like it,” he murmurs, looking to the ground again.
“Because she hates me, and I want her. I've wanted her since the first
time I saw her with that stupid fucking ribbon in her hair. I’ve wanted her
since she shouted at me for the first time in class. I wanted her when she
shoved bacon in my face at Christmas. I finally got her to trust me and now
she hates me again. Is that so hard to understand?”
Miles gulps. “No.”
“Okay, look, I’m sorry for shouting, but it’s really hard not to get angry
right now, especially when I shouldn't be because this is my fault. I’m the
one that messed up,” I say, running my hand through my hair.
I probably shouldn’t have told him that I want her but fuck it. It’s
obvious at this point or I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t have cried like a fucking
baby when I got home after the funeral. I wouldn’t feel this heavy, dirty
weight on my chest for making her cry.
“Admitting that you both hurt each other doesn’t make you a bad
person, you know?” Miles says. When did it get hard to breathe again? And
why is what he’s saying making sense to me? I hate it. “You can be angry at
her for how she treated you, the same way she’s angry at you for how you
treated her. It’s okay, Branson.”
That is when I start to feel it; the tightening of my chest and nothing but
the sound of my own blood sloshing through my body.
I feel the hot flushes on my neck and my back, making it feel like my
shirt is suffocating me. I grip onto the countertop, my other hand over my
chest, smoothing it out
God, does this have to happen right now? In front of him?
I’ve been trying to keep cool about this whole thing since it happened. I
know what I did was stupid and reckless, but I didn’t want to be angry at
her. I can’t be angry at her. I’m the one who hurt her, but I still can’t help
but think about all the time we wasted when I could have had her from the
beginning. If she didn’t immediately cast me as the villain without hearing
me out.
“You good?” Miles asks, coming behind me. I try to speak, but words
fail me as I attempt to regulate my breathing. The more I tell myself I'm
okay, the faster my heart races and the more it hurts. “Panic attack?” I nod,
taking a deep breath. I glance at him as he stands beside me now, crossing
his arms against his chest. I can’t tell if hearing him talking is making it
better or worse. “Yeah, I used to get those, too. Not that much anymore.”
“Thanks for that, Davis. You’re really helping,” I get out, still clutching
my chest. I rub my palm against my heart, trying my best to relax but it’s
really fucking difficult.
“Do you remember the first day you moved in here? Me, Carter, and
Xavier were trying out our first keg and it exploded all over you and your
prissy suit,” Miles says, laughing at the memory. I remember that day. I
remember it being one of the worst days of my life.
“What are you doing?” I choke out, basically panting.
He ignores me and continues talking. “After you got changed, we went
to apologise, and you told us we’d never get on. You said we were too much
for you and the only reason you were here is because your dad was being a
dick. When Carter died, you fed me, and Xavier and you watched stupid
cartoons with us that first night and every night after that for weeks. We
never said anything because we thought we were too cool for it, and you
didn’t either. When we started to get on our feet again, we still didn’t say
anything. But you helped us even though you swore you wouldn’t. Because
that’s what family does, Branson. We can hold grudges, but we can also be
there for each other when we need it. And you’re that person. You’re
always there. No matter what.”
When his rant ends, I realise I've been breathing normally again. He
was distracting me. My hands still tremble, but I can feel my body slowly
settling back to normal. I take in a deep breath, my chest shaking on the
exhale.
“Thanks for that,” I say. He smiles wide, dimples popping out and all.
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “It's fine. I never really thanked you for
that, but you should know how grateful we are. We seriously would’ve died
without you.”
“I know you would have,” I say, chuckling.
“In fact, to make it up to you…” Miles starts, sounding as cheery as
ever. He opens the fridge again, scanning its contents. “How about I cook
tonight? I make a mean chicken salad.”
“For both of our sakes, I'll stick to cooking. You stick to doing the
dishes.”
He turns back around, grinning. “Good idea”
That's when I realised that these guys have my back. They always have.

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 36
Scarlett

Have you ever tried to find the contact information for a guy that was
pronounced dead three years ago? Because I have. And it wasn’t an easy
feat.
After scouring through records at Voss HQ, I couldn’t find anything on
Lucas. I know I should stop digging, but I’m still confused as fuck as to
how he’s just alive and breathing like nothing happened and why nobody
told me about it.
I even considered asking Arthur what was going on, but we’ve hardly
spoken since he called me a whore in front of everyone at dinner. Even if I
pestered him enough, I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything, so I had to take
matters into my own hands. Again.
Things have been tense in my family during the holiday period.
Christmas was a shitshow. I spent Christmas Eve at my parents’ house like
always and we ate dinner in near silence. I spent Christmas day with the
girls, but it didn't feel anywhere near as good as it usually does.
Because Evan wasn't there, and I didn't have a tray full of bacon to
shove into his mouth like I did last year. Instead, I spent the day curled up
in bed, watching The Grinch while I ate my body's weight in chocolate.
For the first time in years, I stayed home on New Years Eve as I
encouraged the rest of the girls to go out without me. Instead, I stayed in
bed, alternating between texting my therapist or Evan. In the end I settled
for neither, preferring the comfort of popcorn and a cheesy sitcom. Dr.
Nelson is concerned, but I promised I’d call her back eventually.
 It took days, hours, and hours of staring at a screen and flicking through
books and calling random people until I finally found Lucas’s number. I
used my burner phone to call him so he would actually answer. Still, I have
no idea what I’m planning on saying until the phone connects.
“Hey, it’s Scarlett. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I just
wanted to speak to you. You know, about you being alive and all that,” I
say, trying to make light of the situation as I ramble on. I watch the black
and white clock on my bedroom wall tick as he doesn’t say anything. I
double check that he hasn’t ended the call on me, lifting my feet up to rest
on my desk. “Hello?”
“I already told you what you want you need to know, Scarlett,” he says
finally. Good. At least he’s talking. Sort of. I’m not a fan of his tone,
though. He sounds annoyed – pissed, even.
“Yeah, I know, but I just don’t fully understand,” I say, trying to keep
calm. “Why would you come to the funeral? Risk being seen?”
“Giovanni was my best friend. In hiding or not, I was going to show up
for him. He showed up for me. As soon as I heard what had happened, I had
to go,” he explains. That makes sense. If I was undercover and my best
friend died, I wouldn't care. But why is he undercover? What is he running
from? I’m sure people would be delighted to know he made it out alive.
“And I’m sorry for that. For you having to see what you did.”
It takes me a few seconds to realise what he’s talking about. Even
though Dr. Nelson tells me it’s okay to be shutting out the memories of
what happened, a part of me still feels guilty. I don’t want to remember it
because of how much it hurt seeing him like that, in so much pain. But
those are also the last memories I have with him and the one I had before
that — thinking he was covering up a crime scene in his backyard — is not
any more pleasant. Blocking it out feels right for now.
“I never told you I was there,” I whisper. Our conversation was short at
the funeral. There’s no way I would have dumped that on him. I was
already in too much shock.
“Reports,” he replies, “they talk.” Of course, they do because I can't get
one minute of privacy apparently, even after people walked past the scene,
leaving us to clean it up. I tried to have the bad stories scrubbed clean,
getting the best bits of Gios personality, but they’ve not made any changes,
still casting him as the villain. “Listen, I'm glad you called, Scarlett, but I
don't have time.”
I snort. “You don’t have the time? You’re a dead man walking. What
could you possibly have to do that’s more important than answering a few
questions from your best friend's niece.”
“I can think of a few things.”
“Yeah? Name one,” I challenge.
“Bills,” he replies gruffly. Bills my ass.
“You’re full of shit,” I argue, my temper rising.
“Look, I know you’re upset about your uncle, and you’re shocked. It's
understandable. Right now, all you should focus on is school and your dad
getting better if he wakes up.”
“When,” I correct, my throat goes dry.
“What?”
“When he wakes up. Not if.”
“Right. I'm sorry,” he says. I don’t respond to that. Just the thought of
my dad not waking up makes my stomach swarm with angry butterflies. “I
really do have to go. Take care.”

* * *

The girls have not left my side since the trip to Las Vegas. I thought we
were attached at the hip in middle school and high school, but now it’s even
worse. I can't decide if it’s a good thing or not. I meant it when I said they
are my forever friends. But that also means they’re up my ass twenty-four-
seven as if they’re talking me out of jumping off a cliff. No matter how
many times I tell them I'm fine, they can’t help double and triple checking.
“Do you want some ice cream, Scar?” Wren calls from the kitchen.
“No, I'm good,” I reply.
“Baby, I want some,” Miles chimes up from his spot across from me on
the sofa. Kennedy rolls her eyes and I scoff.
“I wasn't asking you,” Wren retorts. Miles sulks in his seat, pouting his
lip and crossing his arms. God, he’s such a baby. How does Wren cope? She
also can’t resist him sometimes, so she asks, “What flavour do you want?”
“Chocolate, please,” he replies happily, grinning at me like he won the
lottery. I stick my tongue out at him, and he sticks his out at me. See? He’s
such a baby.
“Do you want a croissant, Scarlett?” Wren asks again.
“My answer is the same as before, Wrenny,” I say, trying not to laugh at
her protective tendencies.
“You’ve got to eat something. I’m worried about you,” she says, and I
don't have to look behind me to tell she’s frowning. She's like a full-time
mom right now. Each week, we switch who gets to play the mother and
clearly this week it’s Wren’s turn.
“Well, don’t be,” I say. “We just had pizza.” I turn to Miles, narrowing
my eyes at him as he eats the chips on the table. “Your boyfriend is the one
with a vacuum for a mouth.”
Miles flips me off as Wren laughs, padding into the room with two
bowls of ice cream. She hands one to Kennedy in her bean bag as she
retrieves it happily and gives the other to Miles before she slides into his
lap. I hit play on the episode of New Girl we’re watching, and we all fall
into a comfortable silence.
Even with Wren and Kennedy up my ass every two minutes making
sure I'm okay, I'm getting used to preferring this over solitude. They make
everything feel better. It helps me feel like everything is going to be okay. If
I want to ignore something, they’ll pretend it never happened. If I want to
shit-talk somebody, they’ll do it happily. They just get me and allow me to
exist without feeling like a burden.

♫ It’ll Be Okay by Shawn Mendes

When the episode transitions into a new one, I use the opportunity to
sneak into the kitchen for a drink. We've been stocked on — what Kennedy
calls — 'Sad Snacks' for the last few days, the girls insisting that I need
them.
As I reach for the shelf where the glasses are, I’m hit with strong déjà
vu, remembering Evan towering over me, touching my waist, his breath hot
on my neck. The way I could feel his eyes lingering on my almost naked
body. His strong, hot hand holding me, steadying me.
“Do you want me to get that for you?”
I turn around and Miles is behind me, placing the bowls into the sink. I
realise that I must have been frozen on my way up to get the glass and he
tilts his head to the side curiously. I blink at him a few times, trying to get
the image of Evan out of my head.
“I'm okay,” I say, jumping slightly to reach it. I almost miss it, but I end
up getting it anyway, triumphant as I move to the fridge to fill up the glass
with the water dispenser. I'm ready to make my escape back to my seat, but
Miles grips onto my elbow, pulling me back into the kitchen. “Can I help
you, Davis?”
“Actually, you can,” he says cheerfully. “Do you think you could
possibly, maybe, definitely be friends with Evan again?”
“What?” I almost laugh.
Miles and I’s relationship isn’t as close as it could be, so I don’t know
why he’s asking me. He's dating my best friend. I hear him fucking her
more often than I’d like and he’s annoyingly good to her. He likes to irritate
me and call everyone stupid nicknames. And he talks too much, too. I guess
we’re alike in that department.
“I know what he did was fucked up, but he cares about you, Scarlett.
I've never seen him cry the way he did when he came back that night,” he
says thickly, and it feels like a punch to the stomach.
“Are you trying to make me feel even worse than I do, Davis?” I ask,
looking to the ground and then back up at him. He's watching me, trying to
figure me out.
“You feel bad?” he asks, genuinely shocked.
“Of course, I do. I know I shouldn't because he’s the one that hurt me,
but I know that he’s never had a malicious bone in his body. I know he’s
been waiting for me to look up and notice him, but I’ve been too stubborn
and scared to admit that he’s not actually a bad person. He’s done countless
nice things for me to make up for it and I was too frightened to let him.”
Miles’ mouth hangs open in an ‘O’ shape as if I just told him Victoria’s
secret. I don't know what he and Evan have been talking about, but he looks
like he’s seen a ghost.
“Then tell him that,” he says, exasperated.
“What?” I laugh.
“Go and tell him that. He’s been making himself sick over you, Scar,
and his bad mood is bringing down the vibes. Go and tell him that you’re
sorry, that you love him so we can all move on with our lives already.”
“I never said I love him,” I say defensively.
 “You didn’t have to,” Miles mutters. What the hell…. Wren better gets
her man in check because he’s seriously confusing me right now. “I’m not
trying to force you, obviously. That will come on your own time, but it
sounds to me that you understand each other more than you realise, and I
can't take him looking like a sad puppy all day. Honestly, I think he’d prefer
you to scream at him rather than this silence.”
“Do you really think so?” I ask quietly.
“Oh, I know so, Scarely,” he replies, grinning. He really surprised me
with that analysis of our relationship. I don’t know when he started to sound
so wise. I knew him back when I dated Jake, and I’ve never heard him talk
like this. But he's back to being annoying. Great.
“Stop calling me that, you dork,” I say, laughing.
“Not until you and Evan become frenemies again,” he challenges.
“Since when were you two besties?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Last I
heard, he said you guys weren’t even friends.”
Miles clutches his chest dramatically. “Okay, ouch. He was in denial.
We’ve come to a truce.”
“Right…” I drag out, eying him suspiciously.
“All I'm saying is, when you’re ready, put him out of his misery. His
bad vibes make me queasy.” He shudders for extra effect.
“You make me queasy,” I mutter as I walk past him, back into the living
room.
Maybe I do need to talk to him. I've had time to reflect, and I don't want
a good thing to go to waste because I'm scared. Watching Wren and Miles
cuddle while we watch the show, they make it seem so easy. Almost
dangerously easy.

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 37
Evan

She’s wearing the dress.

She hasn’t seen me yet, but she’s wearing it. The same dress she wore
the first time she came to my house, only to tell me she’s wearing it for
someone else. The same one she wore when I carried her through the
muddy forest. The same dress she wore when she put her legs in my lap in
the car ride home.
The fucking dress.
We’ve hardly seen each other in the last few weeks, and it’s been harder
and harder to resist her. I don’t want to approach her first and I don't want to
scare her off. Since winter break, most classes have gone by in a blur. We
listen to whatever Anderson has to say, she texts me what I should do for
the project, and I do it. We’re going to have to get together soon to work on
our presentation, but I was planning on waiting until then to see if we could
talk.
What I wasn’t planning was seeing her tonight. Especially not dressed
like that.
The Bailey Foundation is one of the most prestigious and popular
nights for businessmen and their families. It’s a night filled with good food,
expensive drinks, decent music, and obnoxious men hoping to expand their
businesses or create greater trading links. My dad told me to stay by his side
tonight, but it’s hard to do when I can see Scarlett, Wren and Kennedy
walking around and I’m itching to be near her again.
My dad has kept us busy, talking with boring businessmen about stocks
and shit I couldn't give a damn about. Maybe another time, but not when
she’s here. Especially not when she’s looking like that. She’s not got a
ribbon in tonight, so her hair rests angelically on her shoulders, her natural
wavy style, not straightened.
I realise I’ve been looking at her for too long when my dad elbows me
in the ribs. Hard. “Isn't that Catherine?”
The words take a while for my brain to process. Catherine Fables, my
ex-girlfriend, and the reason I was banished from the company. Okay, that
wasn't her fault. We weren't addressing the unhappiness in our relationship
for a long time, so it was my fault too. When she called it quits, it felt like a
piece of me had been torn out. It was bound to happen, yet I was so stupidly
confident that it wouldn't.
We were friends before we got together and good ones at that. But after
her mom passed away, we started to drift, and I realised that I couldn't be
what she needed, and she needed to take a step back. I was fighting for
something I knew I'd never get back. Both of us being in the public eye just
made that harder.
Still, it feels like the wind is knocked out of me when I see her after
following my dad's line of vision. She's just as gorgeous as she was the last
time I saw her. Her dark brown skin glows in the lighting of the venue, her
curly hair flowing down her back against the midnight blue dress she's
wearing as she smiles at the tall brunette who is talking to her.
She must have felt my eyes on her because she turns around and her
smile falters a little. She whispers something to the boy who nods and
kisses her on the cheek before she makes her way over to me.
"Evan," she says simply as her mouth twitches into a small smile. "It's
nice to see you."
I clear my throat, trying to smooth out my voice as I say, "You too."
She nods a little before turning over to the corner where Scarlett stands.
I haven't been able to take my eyes off her all night. "Is that your
girlfriend?" she asks.
"No, uh.. Not yet, anyway," I reply. One way or another, I'm going to
get her to come back to me and saying it out loud only solidifies that fact. I
redirect. "Is that your boyfriend?"
I nod over to where the brunette is standing as he watches our
conversation. "Connor?" she laughs. I shrug, not remembering much from
my time at Drayton Hills. He looks oddly familiar, though. "He's Nora's
brother, remember? My friends who are twins?"
"Oh, yeah," I say, trying to put my finger on the twins she used to hang
out with. "He's a football player, right?"
"That's the one," she says, looking back at him and only him.
He's got a medal around his neck, the ones they give out to the kids at
these events, so they don't feel left out. He gives her a double thumbs up
and she snorts, turning back to me, that knowing grin on her face. Weird.
"Anyway, good luck getting the girl. You really deserve it, Evan. I
know things were hard between us, but I think it was for the better. You're
happy now, right?"
I look back to Scarlett as she laughs, throwing her head back as
Kennedy and Wren's faces turn red with laughter. "The happiest."
Cat turns to me, resting her hand on my shoulder. "Perfect. I'll see you
around, Evan. It was really nice to see you, seriously."
"You too, Catherine," I reply.
And then she's gone. I feel all the tension evaporate from my body as
she walks over to the guy she still didn't confirm if he was her boyfriend or
not - not that it's any of my business anymore. But she seems happy, that's
all that matters.
My dad appears back at my side after a few minutes as my gaze settles
on Scarlett once again, sudden nerves running through my body.
“Are you going to try to look happy, son?” he asks once one of the most
boring people I’ve ever met leaves the conversation. “You’re scaring people
off.”
“This is me trying,” I say, painting my face into a fake smile, baring my
teeth and everything. I really couldn’t care less about tonight if I tried. He
glares at me. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to act like you’re happy to be a part of B&Co,” he replies.
I scoff. “Am I happy, though? I’m hardly a part of it anymore,
remember?
“Maybe if you clean up this ‘woe is me’ act, I’ll reconsider it”
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” he replies. He nods towards the bar where Scarlett is standing,
wedged between a married couple and an older man. “Now go talk to that
girl before you lose your mind.” This time I glare at him. “Sorry, Scarlett’s
her name, right?”
“Yes,” I reply, basically beaming. “That is her name.”
I rub my sweaty hands against my trousers as I make my way over to
her.
Fuck. I shouldn't be this nervous.
Maybe I should have taken Miles’ advice, but Scarlett doesn’t seem
like the type to appreciate me pestering her, so I left her alone and we
worked on our project through emails and text messages. Grovelling didn’t
seem like her vibe. I gave her the space she needed to figure things out,
even if that meant making me overthink every single decision I've made up
until now.
The second I'm within her proximity again, I feel my whole body come
alive. Just the smell of her drives me crazy — fresh, clean, and just rich.
Everything about her screams ‘I have money’ and I love it. But not as much
as I love her mind and the way she sees the world. The way she managed to
constantly keep up with competing with me in classes, shoving her
intelligence down my throat.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to come over,” is the first
thing she says to me. She turns around at the bar.
God, she looks so pretty. It’s hard to even look at her. Yet it’s all I want
to do. I want to memorise her, burn it into my memory for days to come.
She looks like she’s wearing a little bit of makeup because her cheeks are a
new shade of red and her lips are glossier than usual.
“So, you knew I was here the whole time?” I ask playfully.
“Come on, Branson. You and your dad have been brooding in the
corner the whole night. It’s kinda hard to ignore you two,” she says, rolling
her eyes lightly. I look over to where my dad stood and she’s right. He’s
brooding.
“I'm guessing you want to talk?” I say, shifting my weight on my feet. I
shove my hands in my pockets.
“I do,” she says, holding her chin up to me, showing me that beautiful
confidence that I love. “You lied to me, Evan.”
Jesus. I knew this was coming, but…I didn’t see it coming. I didn't
predict the way the words would roll out of her mouth so easily. The fresh
glint of betrayal in her eyes as she tells me exactly what I did.
 “I know and I'm sorry and I don't deserve you to forgive me, but you
have to understand the position I was in. It was my family. We didn’t find
out anything anyway. Even if we did, I’d never let them do anything to
purposefully harm your family,” I explain.
The words come out of my mouth in a rush, as if they’re competing
with my brain. I probably sound stupid. She looks at me curiously, trying to
understand me and I let her. I'd lay my soul bare to her if it would get her to
trust me again.
“My dad is fighting for his life in the hospital right now, so don’t
bullshit me about how important family is. I know you don’t have the
greatest one, but you could have tried to get that back in any other way. If
you wanted to tell me the truth, you could have. If you knew more than you
were letting on, you could’ve told me before it got too far, but you didn’t,”
she says, her voice levelled and calm. Her voice cracks a little as she says,
"I would have listened to you. I would have understood you if you just told
me."
“I'm sorry, Scar. I’m so fucking sorry,” I say again, really meaning it. If
I was smart enough, I would have told her from the beginning. I would have
told her the truth and we wouldn’t be caught in shit shitstorm.
“I don’t want you to be sorry, Evan. I want you to stay, to listen, to do
this fucking project so we can get on with our lives.” She steps in closer to
me now, still holding her head high.
“So, that’s what we’re gonna do?” I ask. I need something more than
that. I need her more than that. More than just existing in each other's
presence. “We’re just going to get on with our lives? I know you don't do
serious and I’m not asking for that, but we…You know…”
She knows exactly what I'm talking about because her face flushes as
she remembers the series of hot, angry kisses and everything that led up to
her whimpering my name inside the library.
“This is such a fucking mess right now,” she says, running her hands
through the ends of hair, quickly. “Usually, I go with the flow. But with you,
I need to know what we’re doing. This isn’t like what I usually do. You
know that.”
I swallow, trying to think. I don't want to scare her off, but I don't want
to lose her either. “I don't know what this is either, Scarlett. If I did, you’d
be the first to know. I just want to be close to you. I don't want to lose you
after all this.”
“So what? We’re dating now?” she asks. Her face scrunches up at the
idea and she looks adorable. She’s pretending again. I thought I knew it
before, but I now know for sure that she’s forcing herself to act like I
repulse her, which only makes me smile harder.
“Do you want to date me?”
“I don't know,” she says through a sigh, shrugging. “I hardly like you,
Ev.”
That fucking nickname is going to kill me, I swear.
“Yeah, sure you don’t,” I say laughing. “Look. If you want to date me,
you tell me that, Scarlett, and I'll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had. If
you want to fool around, pretend you hate me, I'm cool with that too. You
like me. I really like you. It’s that simple.”
“Is it?” she asks, tilting her head to the side playfully, pushing her hair
behind her ears.
“It can be if you let it,” I whisper. She smiles then. A real smile. I lean
forward to tug on the strand of her hair that I realise is not as long as it used
to be. “You cut your hair.”
“Took you a while to figure that one out, genius,” she says, rolling her
eyes.
“I like it. A lot,” I reply through a smile, unable to stop myself.
“Okay. But like it from a distance,” she says seriously, swatting my
hand away from her.
“Why would I do that, Angel? I just said I want you close to me,” I
murmur, slowly wrapping my hands around her waist as I pull her against
me.
“I can do that,” she whispers, smiling up at me. Her smile is small; her
lips rolled in slightly, but I can see the faint glow of red on her cheeks like
she’s happy to be here with me. Finally.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” She shrugs again as if she’s too cool for this.
Well, she’s already way cooler than me, so maybe she is.
“Dance with me, then.”
“Don’t push it,” she warns, squinting her eyes.
“Come on, Scar. Please?”
 As if with perfect timing, the song changes to Turning Page by
Sleeping At Last, the perfect song to dance to. I step back from her, letting
her come to me. I hold out my hand, still walking backwards. She shakes
her head at me, dropping that beautiful smile to the ground before she walks
to me, clasping her hand with mine.
I pull her into me, our hands linking as I wrap one arm around her
waist, her head resting on my chest. I don't dance. Neither does she. But this
right here, is probably the thing that solidifies how I feel about her.
Everything about her fits so perfectly with me. Like no matter how many
times we argued or pushed each other away, we were always destined to
find our way back to each other.
We sway to the music, and I close my eyes, letting the moment take us
away. I’ve needed to be this close to her for weeks. Now that I have her, I’m
never letting her go again.
“I want to move on,” she whispers into my shirt. “I want to see
wherever this goes, but you hurt me, Evan. What you did really fucking
hurt.”
“I know.”
“You can’t keep getting involved with my family anymore, it’s too
much. If we’re doing whatever the fuck this is, that doesn’t mean you need
to know everything about what’s going on. So, drop it, okay?”
“Already did,” I say thickly. When the words leave my mouth they
sound like a lie, because the second I say it, I look up and my dad is staring
right at me. I mean it when I say I'm not going to get involved. I don't want
to do anything to hurt her again. I can try to protect her the best I can, lay
down my life for her, but that doesn’t mean my dad won’t try.

OceanofPDF.com
 38
Scarlett

“Two updates. Go!'' Kennedy screams. We’re sitting in Florentino's, but

she’s clearly not afraid of getting fired, even though she’s the loudest person
in here during her break. She basically runs the shop, doing everyone's job
for them.
“I'll go first,” Wren suggests. “Number one; Marley finally started
calling me by my name and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Number
two; Miles taught him how to call me ‘Wrenny.’”
She sulks at her boyfriend’s insistent use of the nickname she hates. It's
a little sickly, but mostly it's adorable.
“I was rooting for this update,” Kennedy says, shaking her head. “Miles
is so cute with Marley. Do you think you’re ready for kids?”
“Kennedy!” I scream, looking between them.
“It's just a question. I love kids. If I had a man who loved me the way
he loves you, I'd be begging for a child,” Kennedy says, her eyes lighting up
at the idea.
“No, I don't want children right now, Kennedy,” Wren argues, a little
confused. “If Miles ever put a baby in me, I'd never speak to him again. My
body would be ruined.”
“But isn’t it worth it? You’d get to see a baby you or a baby him,”
Kennedy coos.
“Trust me, nothing turns me on more than seeing him fall asleep with
my nephew on his chest, but I do not want any children right now. It’s way
too early to think about,” she says with finality. If Kennedy doesn’t stop,
she’s going to end up manifesting it. “Anyway, enough talk about children.
Scar, what are your updates?”
I think for a second, picking apart the banana bread I ordered. I shove a
piece in my mouth, needing the time to think.
I still haven’t told them about me and Evan becoming whatever we are
again. And they still don’t know about the kiss, which I'm never planning
on telling them about. If they know we kissed multiple times and that he
finger fucked me into next week in the library, they’d never let me live it
down. It’s too difficult to put into words the way he makes me feel and I
don’t know if they would fully understand it yet.
“Okay, update one; I've got through the final chapters of the sequel to
Stolen Kingdom. And no, Wren, before you ask, I’m not okay. That ending
was brutal,” I say, and she grins, knowing that her book is full of emotional
turmoil. “Oh, and second; Evan has got this nerdy band recital thingy at
school, and he wants us to come. Xavier, Michelle, and Miles are going
too.”
“Huh,” Wren says.
“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Nothing,” she chirps, shoving her milkshake straw into her mouth. I
raise an eyebrow. “It’s just the first time you’ve mentioned him since the
event.”
“Yeah, well, we’re back on good terms now,” I say, shrugging
noncommittally.
“By good terms, you mean you confessed your undying love for each
other, right?” Kennedy says.
“I don't love him for God’s sake. Why does everyone keep saying
that?” I mutter angrily. I deflect. “Ken, what are your updates?”
She narrows her eyes at my very obvious change in subject. “Uh, I
don’t have anything this week. Sorry.”
“What do you mean? Something is always going on with you.”
“Okay, jeez, you don’t have to make it sound like a bad thing. I’m not a
complete disaster, you know,” she says, trying to laugh, but it comes out
strange. She’s clearly upset about something, and I want to figure it out
before Wren says something back.
“What’s going on, Ken,” I press gently. She sighs, playing with her
plastic coffee cup.
 “I’m just struggling a bit with classes. Inspiration isn’t an easy thing to
find these days,” she admits, her shoulders slumping. “I’m trying to be
positive about it, but the truth is, it sucks.”
“I get that, Kenny,” Wren says, placing her hand over Kennedy’s so she
stops fidgeting. “I wasn't trying to sound rude earlier. I just mean you
usually have something fun to talk about. I was just surprised, that's all.”
“I know. It's okay. It's just me. I don't know… I just can’t be happy all
the time and it’s exhausting,” she replies. “And I want to be happy for you
guys. You guys need me to be the happy one. It’s how we work, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have to be ‘the happy one,’ Ken and that’s okay. I mean
look at us," I say, gesturing between Wren and me. “We're grumps most of
the time. It’s okay not to be happy, you know?”
“I know. I just really, really like being happy and positive for you
guys,” she replies quietly.
“Then let us be happy and positive for you. We’ll be your cheerleaders,
Ken,” I say, smiling up at her.
“Yeah?” she asks hopefully, those brown eyes lighting up.
“Of course,” Wren says, waving imaginary pom-poms.
And we do. We tell her our full-proof tactics to give your brain a rest
and allow it time to breathe and settle. We eat, talk, laugh, and cry over the
table, even facetiming Gigi while we’re at it. When Ken returns back to
behind the counter, finishing the shift I'm unsure how she gets paid for, it’s
just me and Wren at the table.
She talks to me about how she and Miles are thinking of doing skating
classes at the local rink this summer. There's something so magical about
the way Wren talks about him. As much as she rolls her eyes and calls him
an idiot, there’s also that unwavering sense of appreciation and love in her
eyes. Honestly, it makes me a little bit queasy.
As we walk back to our apartment, my phone buzzes in my pocket and
I pull it out.
MOM: Come over to the hospital as soon as you can. Some updates on dad. The plane is ready.

My mom is a sucker for a cryptic message. I stop walking towards the

apartment as I laugh a little at her weird trait and type out a reply.
 Me: I’m on my way.

“Hey, I'm going to go to the hospital to see my dad,” I tell Wren when
we get to the doors of our building. Wren turns around, her brown-green
eyes instantly fill with worry.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, probably. My mom’s just being her usual cryptic self,” I explain
with a shrug.
“Okay. Let me know when you land,” she replies before slipping into
the building.

I'm strapped safely into the cream leather seats of my family’s plane
when my phone lights up with a call. Since the event, Evan and I haven’t
been able to talk or meet up much, but apparently he thinks now is the
appropriate time to call me.
Since Gio died, I’ve tried to be more accepting towards everything in
life, realising how fleeting life is and to actually embrace the smallest of
things. Well, I don't have that tattoo on my hip for no reason.
Still, I like to mess with Evan as much as he likes to mess with me.
“What do you want, Branson?” I ask when the call connects, talking
through a grin.
“Miss Voss, you’re going to have to put the phone down. We’re
preparing to take off,” the pilot on the intercom calls.
“Yes, one second,” I shout, covering the end of my phone.
“Where are you?” Evan asks when I press the phone to my ear again.
“On the plane to Denver. My mom told me to go to the hospital. Why?”
“Have you taken off?” he asks.
“Just about to,” I reply, looking at the runway as the plane starts to
move slightly. I’ve always enjoyed flying, but I like watching the take off
the most and Evan is ruining my ritual.
“Miss Voss,” the guy over the intercom calls, warning me again.
“Your mom did?” Evan asks, stuttering slightly. I wish he could see me
rolling my eyes right now.
“Yes, Branson, my mother who gave birth to me. Now, I've got to go.
I'm turning my phone off so I can try and catch up on some sleep,” I
explain. It's been a tiring day with exam stress, as well as the project almost
being completed, and this random phone call is not helping.
“No, Scarlett-”
I cut him off. “You’re awfully clingy for someone I've just forgiven.
Remember your place, Ev,” I say as I end the call. Can I not get one
moment of peace? I shut off my phone, sinking further into the leather seat
and close my eyes.

The hospital is more eerie than I remember. It’s usually pretty quiet in
my dad’s ward because most people are in the same situation as him. I walk
down the abhorrent, nauseating, yet once again irresistible hospital hallways
that are as narrow as closest as the bacteria flies in the air. My dad's room is
the last in this corridor and I try to pick up my pace to get out of the
unsettling chill, safe within the comfort of his presence.
I reach his door and the curtains are drawn shut, no doubt trying to
shield him from the fluorescent lights. My mom read somewhere that the
lighting can affect even comatose people, so she often tries to be extra
careful even though I’m not sure if it’s really that big of a deal.
“Look, Mom, if this is just another one of your games…” I say,
laughing as I open the door.
“Hi, Scarlett.”
The voice doesn’t belong to my mother.
Sweat instantly begins to gather on my neck and chest as I look at the
sight before me. Lucas is standing beside my dad’s bed as he sleeps
peacefully. He's not an intimidating guy. Well, he shouldn’t be since he’s
supposed to be dead and all. I've never had a reason not to like him, but
after that weird phone call the other day, he’s been freaking me out more
than usual.
“What are you doing here? Where's my mom?” I quiz, shutting the door
behind me.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” he says, chillingly calm.
“I’m good,” I say, holding my chin high. I refuse to be afraid of him.
He looks sick. Like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Where’s my mom?” I ask
again.
He swallows. “She’s fine. She's safe.”
 I step closer in the room, trying to keep calm and levelled while my
heartbeat starts to pick up. I can hear it everywhere, beating rapidly in my
ears. “Why wouldn’t she be safe?”
“Your boyfriend just couldn’t stop digging.” His voice is rough like
sandpaper, the sound scratching against my scalp. He’s not looking at me.
He’s staring right at my dad.
“What are you talking about?” I whisper softly.
“She wasn’t supposed to be on the plane,” he says, rubbing his hands
on his temples as if he’s trying to erase a memory. He turns to me now and I
blink rapidly, my throat suddenly dry. I don't reply. I don't know if I'm
supposed to. “It was supposed to be Gio, but he messed up the plan. He was
the one that was supposed to die that night. Not Sara. She was innocent.”
“What- What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice shaking. His eyes
are disturbingly blue as he stares right at me, scratching his chin. I stumble
a little, holding tightly onto the medicine cart near the door when I notice
the thick black object in his hand, tapping against his thigh.
He has a gun.
“You know that I was Mateo’s friend first, right? He and Gio could be
tied together by blood, but they didn’t even like each other until I pushed
them together. It was me. I did that. It was mine and Mateo’s idea to take
over the business, to change it, make it our own. But Giovanni just had to
get in the way, didn’t he?” Lucas groans, shaking his head again. I gulp,
trying to find some words, but they don’t come to me. He continues talking.
“The plan was so perfect. Gio was going to take that flight, Marcus would
fly it, crash it and he’d be gone. But he had to send Sara alone. That wasn’t
going to stop me. I managed to think of a second plan. Mateo was too
smart. He'd figure it out too easily, so I had to eliminate him first. I'd
secretly insert myself into the business, plant Tinzin within the imports, tie
people to it without knowing and I'd pin it all on him. It was going to work.
I could see it happening, tesoro.”
His eyes gleam with pure mischief. He just confessed a crime to me.
Multiple. Why is he telling me this? I hold onto the cart tighter, needing
stability. The disgusting look on his face makes my stomach turn. I force
myself to swallow the bile in my throat, feeling the liquid go straight down
to my stomach.
 “Then you had to get involved and it became too easy. He was working
on finding out what happened, and you were asking too many questions. He
was too sensitive. Too protective, so he didn’t tell the whole truth. His trip
to the restaurant colliding with your stakeout was pure coincidence, I'll give
him that. He was making it almost too easy. Gerard and I went way back,
and he was the one to reach out to Gio. He talked him into taking up
butchery and it was only a matter of time until your young, naive brain
would see him slicing some meat and it would turn your thoughts rabid. We
thought you would figure it was him, report him and he’d go down. Then
some idiot had to hit him with his car, making his death and the story too
easy to clean up, not the way I wanted.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, my voice wavering, sounding
completely foreign to me. I have to be stronger. Braver. He stalks closer to
me, only a few feet away now as I back further up, aimlessly reaching for
something to defend myself.
“Because your boyfriend was getting too close. He was starting to
figure me out and the only way I can blackmail him into staying quiet is if
you’re gone and he thinks he’s next.”
I swallow, my chin wobbling. Evan wouldn’t lie to me again. He
wouldn’t. “You’re lying. He said he dropped it,” I argue.
“Sure, he might have dropped it, but it doesn’t mean his family has.
They’re a smart bunch, the Branson’s. Too smart for their own good. But
I'm smarter. I know the second his dad thinks I’m the villain, he’ll tell his
love-sick son and he’ll come rushing here. I'm giving him five minutes
before he bursts down the door.”
He glances towards the door, but the curtains are still drawn shut,
blocking out any passers-by. Do they not have any cameras in here?
“What are you going to do to me?”
He chuckles lightly, sounding like pure and utter evil. “Oh, nothing yet.
I want him to watch me kill you. It’s the only way he’ll take it seriously.”
I don’t let myself flinch at the threat. Be strong, Scarlett. You have to.
You need to. “What are you getting out of this? You wanted Gio gone and
now he is. What is killing me going to do?”
“Ah, I forgot to mention that your dad is going to be gone too.
Meaning, I’ll probably have a few more weeks to resurface, play the whole
‘I survived a plane crash’ charade and the world will be at my fingertips.
No one will be running Voss anymore with Mateo gone and you and your
meddling boyfriend’s family out of the way. They’ll be feeling sorry for me,
practically begging me to take over.”
He’s a narcissist. I can deal with that. I can manipulate that. I must be
able to or else I won’t make it out of here alive. I need to make it out of here
alive. There are so many things waiting for me on the other side of this
door. So many wonderful things that I’ve just grasped, and I can’t afford to
let them slip through my fingers. Not again.
“How are you so sure they’ll want you to take over?” I ask, playing into
the idea.
“Why wouldn’t they?” he says triumphantly.
Once I get him talking, I start to tune him out. I need a plan. I need an
escape from him. If he’s not bluffing, he really could kill me. If Evan is
really on his way, I would never forgive myself for having him traumatised
again for watching someone die. I couldn’t do that to him.
That's when I saw it.
I've seen my dad’s hand twitch before. He's done it countless times, but
the nurses always say it’s reflexes. But this time, his whole hand lifts from
the bed and happy, angry, and confused tears start to spring to my eyes.
Lucas probably thinks I’m backing down, that I’m terrified but the thought
of my dad waking up has given me the push I need.
I try to keep my eyes on Lucas even though just looking at him disgusts
me and starts to make me a little dizzy. As he rambles on, I subtly flick my
gaze to my dad as his eyes are now open. He’s awake. He’s back. He’s here.
I'm suddenly grateful that I was an annoying child who begged my
brothers to teach me everything. I begged them to teach me how to play
soccer, how to change a tire, and how to complete basic first aid. I asked
them for anything to give me a head start in the real world. Including sign
language.
I ask more fabricated questions to Lucas about his ridiculous plan to
kill me, frighten Evan into keeping quiet and taking over the company. He’s
so invested in what he’s saying he doesn’t even notice the beeping
increasing on my dad’s machine as his heartbeat picks up. My dad lifts his
hands up, signing three simple words: keep him talking.
So, I do. But as he continues talking, I slowly try to move towards the
door, angling Lucas away from my dad’s bed so he can’t see him. He tracks
my movements, watching me try and get away from him.
“Where are you going?” he asks, squinting at me as he taps the gun
against his thigh. I flick my eyes towards it and then back up at him before
saying probably the most stupid thing I’ve ever said in my life.
“Just shoot me.”
“What?” He blinks at me.
“You heard me. If you're going to do it, you might as well do it now,” I
say. Jesus. I don’t even know what I'm saying. If this guy is as stupid as he
sounds, he won’t aim for any vital organs and I'm in a hospital for god's
sake.
“I'm doing this on my terms. I want your boyfriend to see,” he growls.
“For the thousandth time, he’s not my boyfriend,” I groan. I’ve been
pivoting so long; he hasn’t caught up on the fact that I’m now next to the
table at the end of my dad’s bed. I might be about to get shot right now, but
I don’t want to die with people knowing me as Evan Branson’s girlfriend.
Lucas tilts his head curiously. “No? Then what is he?” Now he wants to
chit chat. Perfect.
“Behind you,” I say quickly, and he takes the bait, giving me enough
time to whack the gun out of his hand and it slides under the bed. When he
turns back to me, realising he fell for my stupid trick, he doesn’t notice the
lamp I picked up before I hit it as hard as I can against his head and watch
his body fall to the ground.

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 39
Evan

If someone would have told me I'd be sitting in a police station with my

sort-of-girlfriend as she grins at me after being stuck in a room with a
murderer, I would have laughed in their face.
But that’s my reality.
Since we talked to the police, explaining everything we know, as well
as my dad being brought in for questioning for meddling in something he
shouldn’t have, Scarlett hasn’t been able to stop beaming. She’s lucky that
dude didn’t attack her. But even as my heart is still racing, she’s basically
bouncing off the plastic chairs as I try to make sure she’s not in a state of
shock right now and that she hasn’t been injured.
“You told him to shoot you?” I gawk, staring at her, still checking her
face for any bruises or injuries. Her whole face lights up again, those deep
brown eyes shimmering.
“Yeah,” she says, smiling wide, bearing all of her teeth. I shake my
head at her but then I notice the cut on her lip. I run my finger across it, the
finest bit of blood coating the pad of my finger.
“Did he do this to you?” I ask, gruffly.
“No. I bit it when I was hitting him across the head. You should’ve seen
the way I-” When she sees I'm not smiling with her she stops, her shoulders
sagging slightly as she pouts at me. As much as I'm proud of her, she gave
me the fright of my life when I got the call from her mom telling me that
Lucas had taken her phone. She was already on her way down to Denver
when she called me, so I had to get here as soon as I could. “What's wrong?
Were you worried about me, Branson?” she coos.
 “Of course, I was worried about you, you idiot. You could’ve gotten
seriously hurt or worse. He’s a murderer.” I punch out those last few
syllables with a poke to her cheek, but she swats my hand away.
“Yeah, but I'm fine now. See,” she says, standing up, wiggling her
whole body for extra emphasis. A few people in the station turn around to
us, shaking their heads. I grip on her arm, pulling her back down to her seat,
resting my hand on her thigh as she looks up at me, a little confused.
I keep my eyes on her thigh, stroking my thumb on the fabric of her
leggings. She places her hand on top of mine, squeezing it gently.
“When I put the pieces together, I was so scared, Scarlett. I thought this
was going to be the day that I lose you and that thought fucking terrified
me. I should’ve got to you sooner,” I say, looking back up at her. Her mouth
opens, but I cut her off. “And don’t you dare tell me that you can handle
yourself because that guy was, like, twice the size of you.”
She squeezes my hand again, smiling softly. “But I can handle myself.
You saw it with your own eyes.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn't want to protect you anyway.”
She leans forward. Even though we’ve been in the hospital and in the
police station for hours, she still smells like herself. She presses a kiss to
my cheek and when she pulls back she’s smiling, her cheekbones high and
her eyes squinting.
I knew it already. Of course, I did. But after being so incredibly proud
of her, watching her handle the questions from the police with ease, the pure
joy on her face as she recited the story, I realise now more than ever, that
I'm in love her.

* * *

“So, it was true? Your family is still looking into it?” she asks me when
we finally get back to Salt Lake, driving back to my house after a longer
than necessary plane journey.
All we’ve done since we got back is retell our stories to each other. She
tells me about how she ended up in the hospital room with a murderer and I
tell her about how my dad went behind my back to continue digging into
Scarlett’s family and how he found out about Lucas. Part of me is grateful
that he did so I could get to her, but I didn’t want her to think that I was
trying to do it behind her back.
As much as she wanted to talk with her dad, the doctors thought it was
best for his recovery if she went home since she is still in some state of
shock over what happened. It’s going to take a few weeks for Mateo to get
back on his feet again. I promised her dinner so I'm going to give it to her.
“Yes and I didn’t know, I swear. If I did, I would've told you. They said
they dropped it, but I think my dad must have kept digging from the
funeral,” I explain to her, glancing over as I drive. I swear I’ve started to
become her personal chauffeur no matter how protective she is about this
car.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?” I look back at her and she’s watching me drive. Well, she’s
watching my hands on the steering wheel.
She shrugs. “I was so scared, Evan. Deep down I was petrified, but I
was trying to be strong. To be strong for my dad, for my mom, for you. For
everyone. And if I didn’t…”
“But you did,” I say with certainty. I take one of my hands off the
steering wheel and rest it on her thigh instead, squeezing it gently. “Scarlett,
you’re a lot stronger and tougher than you think. You always put on this
confident persona, this armour, but it’s okay to be scared sometimes, you
know. If you ever forget that I’m here to tell you. Every day.”
“Every day?” she asks, laughing a little.
“Every day,” I repeat.
Even after all that, she’s still acting awkward around me. As soon as we
got into the empty house, she kept her distance. Even when the food came,
she stayed in the living room, her knees pulled up to her chest. She’s either
plotting to kill me or overthinking. I know better than to disturb her, so I
start to dish out the food in the kitchen.
“It's just food, Scarlett,” I call through the hatch in the kitchen. I hear
her bark out a laugh over the sound of the TV.
“Yeah, it’s just food,” she says back to me, but her pitch is higher than
usual. I knew the initial adrenaline would wear off at some point.
I go to the opposite end of the kitchen, retrieving the rest of the Thai
food to dish onto the plates. “Do you want any crackers or are you one of
those weird people who-”
 I turn around and Scarlett’s body is pressed up against mine, her lips
inches away from my mouth. She’s standing on her tiptoes a little, trying to
reach my face.
Wait. What?
I pull back from her, slightly. “Uh, hi?”
“Hi,” she whispers back, pulling her pink lips between her teeth before
rolling them back out. I place the bag of food in my hand onto one of the
counters. Her voice is still low and quiet as she says, “I don't know what I'm
doing.”
“That's okay,” I whisper gently, pushing her hair behind her ear, loving
the way she blushes ever so slightly. I can’t help the grin that spreads across
my face as she continues pressing herself to me, holding her head higher. “It
seems like you want to kiss me, Angel.”
“Seems like I’m not the only one,” she says, pressing herself into me
and I can feel the way my dick presses against her stomach. I don’t know
when I got so fucking hard, but it’s just her.
She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling at the hair at the back of
my neck that’s wrapped around her finger.
“This doesn’t mean that I like you or anything, by the way.”
“Shut up,” I murmur against her mouth.
My lips connect with hers and I instantly feel at home. I don’t know
how I've managed to deal without this for weeks. Without her. Because
when Scarlett kisses me, she doesn’t just give me five percent, she gives me
everything.
I crush her body closer to mine so she can feel everything. She can feel
how badly I want her. Her hands play with my hair, pulling and yanking
greedily and I let her. When her tongue sneaks into my mouth, I swear I die
and come back to life. The kiss becomes frantic. Needy. Just fucking
desperate. I curl my hands tighter around her waist, pulling her up until her
legs cross against my waist, walking her over to the counter.
Her face is practically glowing red, her lips already a little swollen. She
keeps her legs wrapped around mine as I go back in, tilting her head back to
get more, as she moans happily into my mouth. I tug tighter on her hair,
loving the way her legs tighten around me when I do.
I press rapid kisses across her face and her neck, watching her whole
body flash with redness. She stripped down to only the thin top she was
wearing under her cardigan so I can get a better access to her chest and the
swell of her breasts. I bite and suck and kiss until she’s writhing beneath
me.
I capture her lips again, needing to taste her. And God, she tastes so
fucking good. It's all sweetness and pure bliss.
“You shouldn’t feel this good,” she whispers into my mouth.
“But I do,” I say back, biting on her bottom lip and she groans. The
sound goes straight to my dick.
“But you do,” she repeats back to me.
She kisses me deeply then, letting me push my tongue into her mouth
and she sighs. As she relaxes, my hands start to make a journey up her shirt,
feeling her bare skin against my hand. I know I've touched her like this
before, but I don’t know what I was expecting.
“You feel so fucking soft,” I groan, kissing along her neck until I get to
her ear.
“What does that even mean?” she says, laughing when I bite the
smooth flesh just under her ear.
“I don't know, but it’s driving me insane,” I say. I trail my hands further
up her shirt until I get to the underside of her breast, but she reaches a hand
down to stop me. My hand pauses as she holds onto my wrist. I pull back a
little. We’re both panting, her lips swollen as her chest rises.
“I don't think I want to do anything more, just yet,” she says nervously.
“I mean- Of course I do. I enjoyed it last time, but not right now. I just- I
just want to kiss you, Ev.”
“Then kiss me, woman,” I demand, and she does.
She kisses me so hard I almost pass out. I can't help my bands roaming
all over her body, silently claiming them. Every inch of her just makes me
want more, but I tell myself to stop, only going as far as she lets me.
“Is this okay?” I ask into her neck while my hands reach around her
back, trailing up her spine. My movements are soft and gentle against the
warmth of her skin, taking my time to feel the beautiful inches of her body.
She lets out a shuddery exhale as I run a finger down her back again. “Do
you want me to stop?”
“It's okay,” she pants, pulling me closer. “It’s good.”
“Are you sure?” I ask again, double checking. She pushes apart from
me slightly, both of her soft hands holding onto my face in front of her. She
tilts her head in that playful, sweet, and just fucking adorable way that I
like.
“Hey, Ev?”
“Yeah?”
“Just relax,” she whispers, pressing her mouth to mine, smiling against
it.
“I don't think I've ever been able to relax when it comes to you,” I say
back.
“Can you try for me? I'll tell you if it gets too much, okay?”
“Okay.”
We start to find our rhythm. She tells me what she enjoys, and I give it
to her. Anything she does makes me feel good, so I don’t even have to tell
her. But my hand is wrapped around her waist, my other holding her neck
when the front door opens. Both of our eyes shoot open, her hands pause on
my chest, and I step back from her as I help her down from the counter.
As much as she tries to smooth out her outfit and her hair, her face is a
dead giveaway. Her eyes dilated, her cheeks are deep red, and you can see
where I've kissed across her chest. Just looking at her like this makes my
dick ache. I turn my back to her as Xavier and Miles’ loud voices boom
through the house.
“That was the worst game I’ve watched in my life,” Xavier says,
walking into the connecting living room and kitchen. He looks up at
Scarlett and then at me. “Oh, hey, Scarlett.”
“Scarley’s here?” Miles asks before coming into view. When he sees
her, his eyes flicker between the two of us, his whole face lighting up.
“Thank fuck for this.”
“Hi,” she says quietly, twisting her fingers together. God, she’s so cute
when she’s nervous. “Evan was just-”
“Getting her and the girls some food,” I say, saving her. She sighs and I
hand her the bag of food. We were meant to share it, but I'll just make
something of my own later.
“Okay, well I guess I'll go. Thanks for dinner and… Everything.”
“You're welcome and.... Everything,” I say back.
She walks backwards until she’s back in the living room as she picks up
her cardigan and stumbles through the door. When she’s gone Miles and
Xavier look at me accusingly.
 “Okay. What the hell was that?” Miles asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
“Nothing. They were screaming about not having any takeout this late,
so I got them something. It’s no biggie,” I lie, shrugging.
“You’re a shit liar, Branson,” Xavier says.

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 40
Scarlett

“What the hell is this?”

Evan looks down at the ribbon I dropped in his hands. He has five
minutes before his performance in the hall and his nerves have been
rubbing off on me, so I’m offering him something to keep him settled.
“Are you dumb, or are you dumb?” I mutter, pulling the blue silk out of
his hand.
He smirks. “Are you giving me a gift, Angel?”
I roll my eyes, fiddling with the material to tie it around his right wrist.
“Yeah, well, I missed Christmas and your birthday, and you’re just so
obsessed with me, keeping hair ties on your wrist and all that, so I thought I
might as well just-”
He cuts me off with a kiss, wrapping his now free hand around my
neck, pulling my closer to his bare chest. I feel like I’m drowning in his
touch. In his presence.
“You don’t ever know when to shut up, do you?” he whispers against
my mouth.
“It’s your fault,” I mutter, trying to regain my composure. “You do this
thing where you look at me like-”
That bastard. He’s shirtless, his shirt hanging over the back of a chair in
the music room, his face is freshly shaven, and he looks so fucking sexy,
and he expects me to form coherent sentences while he gives me the smile.
What a fool.
 “You can’t look at me like that, Branson. It’s ridiculous,” I say, pushing
away from him, but he catches his arm around my waist, pulling me right
back to him.
“I thought we established this already, sweetheart. You’re ridiculous.”

This is going to be torture.

I’ve been to the grand hall at North University twice in my life. The
first was on the first day of school, where we had an induction assembly
where they told us that futures were made here. The second time, I was
sitting in a row with Wren, Miles, Xavier, and Michelle all sitting next to
me as we watched Evan Fucking Branson perform a piano piece on the
stage in front of us.
He walked onto that stage with all the confidence in the world, his head
held high, a huge smile on his face, dressed in black pants and a white shirt.
No tie. It honestly might be the hottest look I’ve seen him in and that’s
saying something. Even hotter? The fact that we’re only a few rows from
the front where he can see us and he’s sitting in front of a grand piano, his
sleeves rolled up, and I can see my ribbon on his wrist.
I swear I'm getting flustered just looking at him. I hope the rest of them
don’t notice. We almost got caught by Miles and Xavier the other day and
even Anderson picked up on the subtle kiss he gave me as we stood outside
of his office, waiting for our final check in for the project. It’s getting harder
and harder not to show people how much I'm drawn to him, but hiding it
only makes the pulsing tension between us burn more.
Kennedy and Wren are giddy beside me, never having seen him play
before. But I have. I’ve seen him play just for me. I’ve seen him teach me.
I’ve seen the way he gets lost between the notes and the melodies, his
whole body moving with the song.
He pulls the microphone to him even though he’s not singing. “Hi,
everyone. I’m Evan Branson,” he introduces. Miles lets out a loud whoop
and Wren elbows him to keep quiet as everyone’s head turns towards our
row. Evan laughs a little into the mic, the sound rushing straight towards
me. “This piece is called ‘Linda’s Song,’ and it’s dedicated to someone
special I know. Her name is Linda if that wasn’t already obvious. Anyway,
she’s going to hate that I’m doing this, but she’s the best Linda to my
Danny a person could ask for. My partner in crime, as they say.”
I don’t get time to process what he just said because the second his
fingers press down on the keys; I swear my soul leaves my body.
I love music. I always have. But the way Evan is playing right now is
something I’ve never experienced before. It starts off slowly, dramatic, and
sensitive, immediately bringing tears to my eyes, before building into a
symphony made specifically for me.
Or, well, Linda.
“Who the hell is Linda?” Kennedy asks quietly, leaning into me, her
mouth practically hanging open.
“And who’s Danny?” Wren asks from the other side of me.
“I don’t know,” I say but I can tell the smile on my face is a dead
giveaway. Miles leans forward, across Wren as he tries to keep his
obnoxiously loud volume to a minimum.
“Awh, this sucks for you, Scarlett,” Miles whispers.
“Why does this suck for me?”
“Because he’s clearly into that Linda girl and last I checked, your name
isn’t Linda,” he says, sounding genuinely upset for me. Wren elbows him
for the second time tonight and he slouches back in his chair, locking his
gaze back on Evan.
"He must really like this Linda girl, huh?" he mutters.
"Yeah,” I whisper, “he really does."
Then it gets worse.
Not only is he completely transfixed by the music and the melody, three
people enter the stage with horns and flutes. Fucking horns and flutes.
Everything sounds so beautiful together. Nothing is too loud. Nothing is too
quiet. Everything is just perfect. Pure and utter bliss. I swear I start to tear
up. Nearly everyone in the crowd does. When he turns to me, still playing,
everyone in the crowd in awe, he smiles faintly, and I smile back.
Because no matter what, Evan Branson is going to continue to surprise
me for the rest of my life.
The song goes on for a while, but no one gets bored. How could you?
Every note is part of this beautifully crafted piece that tugs directly on your
heartstrings. I even rest my head on Kennedy’s shoulder, closing my eyes
while I listen, goosebumps rising up my arms.
 “It’s just so…” Kennedy says, clearly lost within it too.
“I know,” I reply. “I know.”

* * *

As he promised, we all walked out of Evan’s escalade into a Michelin

star restaurant downtown for a celebratory meal after his performance.
Really we should be celebrating him, but he insisted on booking us all a
table, pre-paying for our meal so we could eat together.
We haven’t been able to have a moment alone since that moving piece,
but he’s been standing behind me the whole time. I said congratulations but
that’s about it. I don’t know how to put into words the amount of emotions
I’m feeling right now.
As we get through the doors, I pull onto Wren’s arm, so she turns
around to me. “I’m just going to use the bathroom. Text me where you get
seated.”
“Okay,” she replies, happily, linking her arms within Miles’s waiting
one.
I stumble over to the bathroom, needing a moment to collect myself.
Unlike most restaurants, this one holds a corridor of single unisex
bathrooms instead of huge ones with multiple stalls. Still, they’re large
enough to fit at least three people in, with huge mirrors surrounding the
whole room. Of course, it does because Evan had to pick the fanciest
restaurant for tonight.
When I get into the bathroom, I lock the door, looking at myself in the
golden-rimmed mirrors. My face is still a little red from his performance, so
I quickly splash some water on it, letting it cool me down. My phone
buzzes on the counter.

EVAN: Where are you?

EVAN: Do you want me to order you a drink ?
ME: I’m in the bathroom. Last one in the row. Come here.
EVAN: So, no drink….?
ME: Just come to the bathroom.
 As I expected, a few seconds later I hear a faint knock on the door and I
open it, all six feet and three inches of him filling the large space.
“Hey, what the hell was that?" I ask, going to lock the door. When I
turn back to him, I see him watching me in all the mirrors. My back is
completely exposed by my black dress, so that’s probably what he’s looking
at, his eyes roaming all over my body. I suddenly feel so exposed to him
with the mirrors reflecting my every angle.
“What was what?" he asks innocently, leaning against the wall with his
arms crossed. I copy his position, my back against the sink.
“Evan,” I warn.
“Scarlett,” he purrs, the sound creating a pool of heat in my lower
stomach.
"Drop the act for one fucking second and be real with me,” I say,
waving my hand between us.
"What do you want me to say, Scar?" I groan, knowing that he’s
playing coy with me which is the last thing I want or need.
“Why would you write a song for me and not tell me and play it in front
of everyone?” I say. He chuckles lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“No one knows it was about you,” he replies.
“You were staring right at me while you were playing,” I accuse and
then mumble, “Which is insane because I don’t understand how you can
play without looking."
He steps closer to me, my ass already digging into the countertop. “Are
you trying to compliment me, sweetheart?”
I gulp. “I would never,” I say, holding my chin up to him. He doesn’t
buy it, clearly, because he still stalks closer to me until he’s a breath away,
his whole body covering mine. “You're the most arrogant person I've ever
met.”
I shove him in the chest, seeing if he’ll back down, but he doesn’t even
stumble. Instead, he unties the ribbon on his hand and grips both of my
hands together, pinning them above my head. I gasp, tilting my head up to
him.
“Really? That's not what you were saying the other week when my
fingers were deep inside your pussy or the other day when you were kissing
me senseless,” he murmurs, seamlessly tying the ribbon over my wrists.
“Tell me if it’s too tight, okay?”
 “It’s not,” I gasp, needing him to give me something. Something more.
“Good,” he rasps.
The way he can switch from innocent, golden retriever to this burly,
almost animalistic man, baffles me. My chest is heaving now, desperate for
a taste of him, as he stares down at me while I look up, wiggling my hands
in his grip. He holds on tighter to them, pushing them higher until my
whole chest is stretched for him. He kisses along my neck, causing me to
shudder and shift under his touch. In one swift motion, he bunches up the
skirt of my dress, palming my thighs near my underwear, his huge hand
wrapped around them.
“I want to know something, Scar,” he breathes into my ear, his hot
breath bringing me one step closer to unravelling. I'm panting now and he’s
not finishing his sentence. He's teasing me, edging me, with the slight
stroke of his thumb on my thigh. “If I were to slip my hand into your
panties right now, will you be as wet as I'm imagining?”
Just the sound of those filthy words on his mouth sends a rush of want
straight down to where I'm waiting for him. Everything in my body lights
up from the way he touches me, teases me, and mixed in with his words
makes my whole body spread with goosebumps, desperate and aching with
need.
“No,” I lie. I can feel it coating my thighs, begging for a release. Just
being this close to him gets me hot and bothered. The silk around my wrist,
knowing that I gave it to him just for him to use it to tease me.
“Don’t lie to me, Angel,” he warns, pressing a kiss to my neck as his
fingers dance across the thin fabric of my panties.
“I'm not ly-” My words turn into a guttural moan as he slips his hand
into my panties. My mouth hangs open instantly, but he nudges it closed
with his nose, his thumb paying very close attention to my clit as it
responds needily to him.
“Fuck, Scarlett,” he breathes into the crook of my neck, causing me to
turn away from him. I can see myself in the mirror and the image is
obscene. I'm pressed against the sink, my hands above my head, Evan's
strong hands wrapped around my wrist as he kisses my neck with his other
hand inside my panties. He presses his cheek to mine, watching me watch
us. “Look at you. You're a fucking mess and I'm hardly doing anything.”
“Ev,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”
 “Angel, I’ve not even started,” he whispers. I don't know how his touch
unravels me so easily. Maybe it’s because it’s been on my mind for weeks
now. But actually, having it suddenly makes every nerve so sensitive to his
touch. And I just want more. “Do you want me to put a finger in that sweet
pussy of yours or will this do?”
Will this do? He’s got to be fucking kidding me. I try to move against
his hand, needing more friction. He’s being too soft, toying with my
wetness against my clit, not giving me what I want just because I haven’t
asked.
“Two,” I say roughly. “Two fingers. I want to feel you everywhere."
The sentence is barely out of my mouth before he penetrates me with
his middle finger and his index finger, filling me with his large hand. It’s
exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed, but...
“Ev, your fingers- They’re so...big,” I moan, my hands struggling
against his grip. I can’t help but roll my hips against his hand, still needing
that bit more.
“I’m just doing what you asked.” he rasps, biting and nipping at my
neck. The stimulation I’m getting from his mouth on my neck and his
fingers deep in my pussy, driving me insane. His pace increases slightly as I
rock my body into his.
“Does it feel good, hm?” His voice is low and raspy, so the only thing
that comes out of my mouth is a moan as I clench around him. “As good as
that feels and sounds, that isn’t an answer, pretty girl.”
“Evan,” I moan, sounding pathetic and needy. That’s exactly what I am
now; a moaning, shaking, desperate and needy mess. All for him. Every
touch from him feels like an inferno and I can’t get enough. “It feels good.
Too good.”
“Do you want your friends to hear you moaning my name?” he asks,
and I shake my head, still trying to move against him. I don’t know why I
do it, only knowing it’s going to push me over the edge, but I want this to
last forever. “Good. Now let me cover your mouth.”
He drops his hand from holding mine above my head and plants it
across my mouth instead. Now my hands are flailing, trying to grip onto
something for stability as he continues pushing his fingers in and out of me,
the slick wet noises filling the room. I grip onto the sink with both hands,
my knuckles turning white.
 He teases my clit with his thumb, still pumping in and out of me with
long strokes. Jesus, Christ. I’ve never felt this good before. He pulls his
fingers out of me only to pinch my clit and I shudder, moaning into his hand
while he stares right at me, his face painted in a satisfied, evil grin. I’m sure
my saliva is completely covering his hand, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In
fact, it seems like he’s enjoying it. My body is trembling now, my hips
unable to keep up with the brutal thrust of his fingers, needing to finally be
pushed over the edge.
“Are you going to come for me, Angel?" he asks. I nod my head, my
eyes watering as he pulls out of me. Again. He’s trying to destroy me. He
slaps my pussy and I moan again. “Good girl.”
He sinks two fingers back inside me, keeping his eyes locked with
mine, but they keep rolling back in my head, overcome with pleasure.
Needing more. But needing less.
When he picks up his pace, his thumb still circling my clit, I feel the
orgasm about to hit me and I roll my head back, still moaning into his hand.
My back arches, my legs writhing as he mercilessly pushes his fingers in
and out of me, the whole experience feeling like stars are bursting.
“Evan,” I cry.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I need-” He increases his pace again before slowing it down. My hips
aren’t able to move anymore, my body hot and confused with the game that
he’s playing. Is he trying to kill me?
He ignores my needy whimpers, instead saying, “What do you need?”
“Stop teasing me. I need to come,” I moan.
“Good, because I’m fucking starving,” he groans as he slowly sinks to
his knees.
My head tilts back, unable to look at him even after he releases my
hands and ties the ribbon around just one of my wrists instead. He presses
his tongue flat against me and my legs shake as I hold on tight to my dress.
He’s eating me out so good like he’s been paid to do it. He pushes his
tongue into me, and I feel my whole body flush again.
When the pleasure takes over again, my head instantly falls back,
moans falling out of my mouth that I forget to keep quiet, but I don’t care. I
don’t care how loud I sound with how good this feels. When he looks back
at me, watching me on the brink of falling apart, he squeezes my ass.
 I twist my head to the side again, not able to look at him as he
continues sucking my clit, lightly grazing his teeth against me. I turn to the
mirror, watching as his head bobs up and down, my skirt only covering half
of his face. I don’t know how much I can take of this. He’s too fucking
good at everything.
“Don’t do that,” he warns, his voice thick and heavy, “I want you to
look at me when you come for me, Scarlett.”
That’s what does it. The way my name sounds on his lips – desperate
and fucking needy. The way those green eyes are staring into mine as I try
to speak, and nothing comes out. The orgasm rips through me and pulls
through every nerve in my body in waves, as he holds me on the come
down, gently massaging my clit as it passes through me.
I want him.
I want all of him.
“I need you to fuck me,” I say when I catch my breath.
“Right now? When your friends are on the other side of this door?" I
nod. He stands up to his full height. He pushes the sweaty hair on my
forehead out of my face. “Scar, I’ve been dreaming about fucking you since
the first day at North. I’ve fucked my fist imagining doing it raw, hard, and
fast. I’ve imagined doing it slowly, taking my time, easing my cock into
you until you can’t take anymore. I’ve imagined fucking you so hard in that
tight pussy of yours until it’s the only thing you remember, and you can’t
walk straight, which means it’s not going to be a quick fuck in a bathroom
of a restaurant. I’m going to want the whole day having my way with you.
I’m going to look after you afterwards, clean you up and tuck you into bed
with me. Because that’s what it’s going to be like when I finally have you
all to myself. But today isn’t that day. When I do, I’m going to fuck you
like your mine.”
I swallow at the images he’s just painted. I want all of what he just said.
Every single fucking thing and more. Does he really expect me to have
dinner with everyone after all that? Apparently.
“Okay,” I breathe out. He tilts his head to the side.
“Okay is all you have to say?”
"Yes, okay is all I have to say because I want you so badly – now – and
you’re telling me to wait. I’m an impatient person, Branson, so your golden
dick better be good.”
 “Trust me, sweetheart, it will be."

* * *

Most of the meal goes by in a blur. After timing our exits from the
bathroom to perfection, nobody asks us any questions while everyone
gushes over Evan’s performance. I sat across from him, needing the
distance.
Still, he managed to convince Michelle to switch places, so he ended up
next to me the second half of the night. I had to pretend his large hand
resting casually on my thigh wasn’t making me go crazy like his fingers
weren’t inside me only minutes ago.
“What’s everyone’s food like?” Kennedy asks innocently as she pokes
around her food. “Is anyone else’s lasagne…”
“So wet?” Evan says, his voice low, but no one picks up on the way he
squeezes my thigh, inching his hand further and further up so my pussy
aches.
“Yeah,” Kennedy says, sulking as she refuses to take a bite of the food.
She looks like a little baby, and I laugh, pushing my hair out of my face.
When her eyes widen, I immediately notice the mistake I’ve made. “Oh my
god! Did you two get matching friendship bracelets?”
“What are you talking about?” Evan asks, his eyebrows knitting in
confusion. Oh, that poor, sweet, not-so-innocent boy.
Kennedy points at my wrist. “That ribbon. You were wearing it at your
performance. I thought I recognised it,” she says, tutting.
“Oh, yeah, I remember too,” Wren says, looking between the two of us.
“Go on, Evan. Show us yours.”
“I don’t have one,” he says, glancing over at me and then back to
Kennedy who is not buying it.
“Then why do you both have the same one?” she asks, titling her head.
“Yeah, and come to think of it, your wrists are looking a little red,
Scarley,” Miles chimes in. I swear he just wants me to murder him.
“Oh my god,” I groan. “I always wear a ribbon my wrist, you guys
know that. Evan must have stolen one of mine for good luck in his
performance. He probably took it off between then and now. My wrists are
red because I keep switching them around. End of fucking story.”
 Everyone falls silent before Kennedy nods, a little frightened at my
outburst until they all eventually fall back into a quiet conversation. Evan
doesn’t say anything other than moving his hands further up my thigh,
knowing that I’m still drenched for him. He hisses when he feels my
arousal, his knuckles brushing against my clit.
“That’s my smart girl,” he murmurs, only for us to hear.
How much longer am I going to have to wait for him and that golden
dick?

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 41
Evan

This is our last time having a chance to run through our presentation
before we have to hand in our final report. We’ve managed to keep up with
the progress of the app. Watching it come to life has been incredible. The
last thing we need to do is perfect our presentation before we have to
present it in front of the class.
Scarlett came over to my house this morning to start working on it. My
dad isn’t home — thank God — so I haven’t had to worry about speaking to
him. Since Lucas’s arrest, we’ve hardly spoken about him going behind my
back and betraying me when I told him to stop digging. He could have got
us all killed if he didn’t stop. I’m not ready to hear him out yet and I don’t
know when I will be. Still, having Scarlett here, safe, seemingly happy, is
enough for me right now.
“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” she asks, turning towards
me. We set up a projector onto a huge whiteboard so we could go through
the presentation in my office. She’s standing in front of it in a pencil skirt
and a blouse, giving a hot teacher look as she flicks through the cue cards.
After hearing those delicious moans come out of her mouth in the bathroom
and she asked me to fuck her, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.
“I’m looking,” I say.
She smirks. “I said ‘Listening’ not looking, you perv. We don’t have a
lot of time left and we need to make this as close to perfect as possible.”
“Okay, run through it one more time.”
 And she does. She explains to me how we’re going to start giving a
pitch about Hard to Tell and how we would advertise it. She goes on to
vaguely explain the details of the app with notes from the software
developer before handing it over to me.
Whilst I’m doing my run through, flicking through the slides, she
stands next to the window, staring out into my bleak backyard. I try to
continue talking, to keep practising, but she’s distracting me without even
doing anything.
“Are you even listening?” I ask playfully, stopping my rant. She doesn’t
respond or move to suggest she’s even heard me. I stalk closer to her. She
has one of her arms wrapped around her middle, the other resting next to
her mouth, biting her nails. I place a hand on her waist, coming behind her.
“Scarlett?”
“Hm?”
“Did you listen to anything I just said?” I ask. I rest my chin on her
shoulder, tightening my hand on her waist. She nods. I kiss her neck lightly,
inhaling her perfume and she hums. “What are you thinking about?”
She swallows, dropping her hands from her mouth. “Is this where you
used to play as a kid?” she asks and it’s the last thing I was expecting.
The field that we call our backyard goes on for miles, eventually
leading into a forest containing a small pond and deck. It was every little
boy’s dream. It was my dream. For a while anyway.
“Yeah,” I say. I twist us slightly, pointing east towards where my old
tree house used to be. “I used to have a treehouse there. I called it the
EvCave.”
She laughs a little. “That’s cute.”
I wrap both of my arms around her waist now and her hands rest on
mine on top of her stomach, her head resting against mine on her shoulder.
Holding her like this, where we’re not arguing, where we’re both watching
the same thing, makes me feel like we’re more than what we really are.
That we’re capable of more than we give ourselves credit for.
“What’s the matter, Angel?”
“Didn’t you ever get lonely?” she asks. “I mean, I had a yard as big as
this and even with four brothers, I still felt alone. I couldn’t imagine what
you must have felt like. Didn’t you get lost?”
 “I got lost all the time, but it didn’t mean anything. My mom was the
greatest until she left. She and my dad tried to make me feel special and
loved, even though they swore off having any more kids,” I admit, thinking
about all the days it was just the three of us.
“Do you think you would want siblings?” she asks quietly.
“Not if it would have changed who I am. People around you shape you,
they make you who you are without knowing. I like who I am now. Who I
am now brought me to you and I would hate to have that ruined because of
the way I was brought up,” I say. She twists in my arms, turning to me as
her eyes search my face. “What?” I ask, feeling suddenly nervous under her
gaze.
“Nothing,” she replies, shaking her head as she looks up to me. “That
was just a perfect answer.”
Some of the things that come out of this girl’s mouth completely
messes up my insides. As much as she can tell me how much she hates me,
she can also say sickly sweet things like that or hold my hand when I don’t
ask her.
Completely overcome with the joy of being in her presence, I press my
mouth to hers, letting her soften into my touch before going in harder. More
frantic. Her body moves with mine, her hands curling in my hair as I take a
strong hold of her delicate face, slipping my tongue into her mouth. When
the warmth hits her, she moans before smiling against my mouth and I
almost die. I want more of her. I need more of her all of the time. And she
lets me have her.
She lets me run my hands over the curves of her waist around her back,
until I can press her body flush to mine, until it feels like we’ve become
one. She lets my hands search across her soft thighs, squeezing and
kneading. She lets me swallow every whimper and soft moan that leaves
her mouth. I pick her up as she wraps her legs around mine and I place her
on the windowsill, my hips grinding into her.
“How do you make everything feel so good?” she murmurs angrily
when I kiss across her neck, biting her there softly. When she’s caught up
like this, she compliments me more and I love it.
“Because I know you,” I say. Her head tilts to the side, allowing me to
kiss across the base of her throat while my hands inch further and further up
her skirt. Her fingers curl in my hair, grabbing and pulling tightly, pressing
my head further into her.
“Listen,” she pants, gasping as she pulls my head slightly to face hers.
Those pretty lips are glowing pink, swollen from kissing me too hard. “I’m
still learning to trust you.”
“I know,” I sigh, letting my shoulders relax. I knew this was going to
come at some point. “What else is it going to take for you to trust me? Do
you want me to get on my knees and beg you? Because I’ll fucking beg,
Scarlett. I’d do just about anything.”
She drops her arms from my face, her hands resting on the windowsill
as she studies me. She holds her chin up in challenge. “Crawl to me.”
“What?” I choke out.
“If you’re going to get on your knees and beg, you might as well do it
the right way,” she says, gulping. This girl is full of surprises. “I want you
to take off your shirt too.” She rubs her hands over my shoulders before
dropping her gaze to where I’m hard and waiting for her. “And your pants.”
I do as she asks, stepping back from her and she drops from the
windowsill, standing straight. She keeps her wild eyes trained on my chest
as I shove off my white shirt, throwing it onto the floor to the side of the
room. She swallows as I start to unbutton my trousers, but I pause before
zipping my fly down.
“Are you sure you want this, Angel?” I ask, double checking because
once we cross that line, it’s over.
“Positive,” she says, watching my hand and I zip down my trousers, my
dick already hard and waiting for her as it’s finally able to breathe from the
restraints of my pants. I shove them to the floor, kicking them off to the
side, my socks and shoes following them until I’m in nothing but my
boxers. She swallows audibly.
I walk backwards until I’m closer to the door and I get down on my
hands and knees, the carpeted floor rubbing against my bare skin, and I start
to crawl to her.
She watches me intently as if I’m the best fucking film she’s seen in her
life. She’s smirking, clearly enjoying this, but she’s shifting too, her thighs
obviously rubbing together in that skirt. Just the thought of her already wet
for me makes my dick ache.
 When I get to her, she watches me as I lift her heel up, undoing the
straps before setting her foot down and she loses a few inches. I do the
same to the other one before kissing her there and she sighs happily. She
stumbles against the radiator a little as I sit back on my heels, holding her
leg to kiss along her calf and up her thigh.
I continue my journey up, getting soft and sweet whimpers of my name
in return. Her thighs are already sweaty and slick with her arousal and I lick
every last drop that she gives me, until I get to her panties where she’s
glistening for me.
“Let me show you how good it would be if you let me be nice to you.
How good it would be if you stopped calling me every awful name you
could think of. Let me be good to you. Let me be good for you,” I whisper
as I press a kiss to her heat above her panties where she’s soaking.
“Okay,” she breathes. I lay my tongue flat against the fabric, tasting her
and she shudders. “Fucking hell, Ev. I said ‘Okay.’”
“Okay?”
“Yes. I just want you so badly,” she whines as I suck on her clit gently.

Scarlett
When I’ve stripped down to nothing but my panties and a bra, I’m
standing in front of Evan, wet and needy while he just…watches me. I can’t
stop staring at him. His chest is sculpted perfectly, his hair already messy
and his face is red. It confuses me how he can look so adorable and hot at
the same time, while saying the filthiest things.
I need him.
Desperately.
He wraps his huge hands around my waist, his fingers dancing up my
spine as he pushes my chest closer to his bare skin against mine. I need to
taste him, but he doesn’t let me have him.
Instead, he unclips my bra, my chest still against his as I lean up
slightly to let the material fall to the ground. When my tits press against his
chest, my nipples hard peaks, he groans.
 “Jesus, Scarlett,” he mutters, looking at the space between us and I feel
him growing in his boxers, pressing against me. He swallows. “Everything
about you is just so… Perfect.”
My whole body flushes at his words, feeling the praise right down to
my fingertips as his hands roam around my waist. Only he can make me
feel like this. Each touch is absolutely maddening. When my eyes connect
with his, his hands shoot to my face, holding me tightly as he presses his
mouth to mine.
It’s not like the other angry kisses we’ve had. This one is soft. Sweet.
Timid, almost – a stark contrast to what we’re about to do. He’s being soft
with me again and I want to melt in a puddle at his feet.
He pulls back from me, his cheeks glowing the most adorable shade of
red before diving into my neck, sucking, nipping. His quick kisses become
long, hard sucks when he reaches the swell of my breast as he holds onto
my waist, my back arching.
His hot mouth covers my nipple and I moan, loving the way he’s taking
care of my body like he knows it. I know he wants me to watch – and God I
want to – but it feels too good, and I know that looking at him, watching
him devour me, will make me crave more.
He’s like an animal.
His lips touch every sensitive part of my breasts as he swirls his tongue
around it, making me call out his name. He starts to make his journey down
my chest, kissing and touching me like I’ll break.
“Tell me what it says,” he murmurs into my skin at my navel, and I
know he’s talking about my tattoo on my hip. It’s a small butterfly next to a
couple of words.
“Can’t you read, dumbass?” I ask playfully, putting him out of his
misery as I take off my panties. Maybe I didn’t realise the severity of being
absolutely naked in front of him until he fell to his knees again, his green
eyes full of wonder.
I feel like a God.
“I want you to tell me,” he says, his thumb rubbing circles on the inside
of my thigh. He collects my arousal with one of his fingers, teasing it
against my clit and I have to clamp my mouth shut, so a moan doesn’t slip
out. “What’s wrong? Can’t talk, Scarlett?”
 He pushes one finger inside of me and it feels like my whole world is
falling apart. I hold onto his shoulder for stability, needing something to
make sure I don’t fall over or explode into a thousand pieces.
“Talk,” he urges again, looking up at me, those green eyes not leaving
mine. He picks up the pace of his fingers, so that I have to try to focus on
something else before I can talk without whimpering.
“It’s four words,” I say finally, panting to stop myself from crying out.
“It’s the title of my favourite poem. Let it enfold you.”
“What does it mean?” he asks calmly, as if he isn’t pumping in and out
of me. This man is going to absolutely wreck my life.
“It means finding the simplest moments in life. The first line is, ‘Either
peace or happiness, let it enfold you,’” I get out, most of it sounding like
one word.
“That’s beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the tattoo. “Just like
you.”
He spins me around, so my naked body is pressing against the
windowsill, my ass in his face, as his fingers leave me empty. He roams his
hands over my back, kneading his palms into my ass and I gasp, loving the
way it feels.
“I want to explore your body and see if every inch of you tastes as good
as I imagined,” he murmurs into my skin.
“You dream about me, Branson?” I croak out.
“Every night.”
“You’re so obsessed with me,” I say, laughing.
“Don’t act like you haven’t been dying for this too.”
“Dying for it is a bit dramatic, don’t you think? Have I wanted this?
Yes. Have I been dying for it? Not so much,” I say easily. I’m teasing him,
edging him on, seeing how far he will go until he finally cracks and gives
me what I want.
“Ah,” he tuts, “you shouldn’t have said that, Angel.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m about to prove you very wrong. When I’m done with
you, you’re going to dream about the way I touch you every night,” he says
through a groan. I go to stand, but he still keeps his hands on me, dancing
across my stomach, his mouth on my neck.
 “Prove me wrong, then,” I challenge, twisting around in his grip to grab
onto his neck, pulling him into me so I can crush my mouth to his. His body
is surprised by my sudden roughness, and he stumbles backwards slightly. I
want him inside me. I want to feel him fucking everywhere. “Do you have a
condom?”
“Yes,” he says into my mouth, smiling against it. He pulls me with him
as he reaches into a drawer, retrieving the packet.
My eyes can’t leave his body as he shucks off his boxers in one motion,
his huge erection making me gulp. I knew he was going to be big, but…
Jesus. He strokes the head of his cock, leaking with pre-cum and I snap my
eyes up to his, unable to look at it. He pumps his shaft a few times while
keeping his eyes trained on me and it takes all that I am not to touch myself
too with the way he’s looking at me – his gaze is hungry, dirty, and
insatiable. He rolls on the condom, and I sit back up on the windowsill.
He braces one hand under my thigh, lifting it up as he positions his
cock with my needy, wet pussy. “Tell me when you want to stop, okay?” I
nod, needing him now more than ever. He gently eases the tip into me, and I
gasp. Not much is inside me, but it’s already filling me up. He adjusts my
thigh, opening my legs wider so he can push into me again, giving me more
of him.
“Fuck,” I moan when more of him slips deeper inside me. I loll my
head back, unable to look at where we’re connecting, knowing it will take
me over the edge. Once he’s pushed in as much as he can and I’ve adjusted
to his length, he braces both of his hands on my hips as I try to keep my
legs as high as possible, wrapping them around him.
“Jesus, you’re so tight,” he groans into the skin on my collarbone.
“I’m not, you’re just fucking huge,” I say back.
“You trying to compliment me, sweetheart?”
“No,” I bite out, moaning again. I look down to where we’re connected
– my pussy stretched perfectly for him. I bite back the moan in my throat as
he drives into me. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“Good. I was planning on it,” he says. He pushes just in and then just
out again, each stroke slower than the last. He’s trying to punish me. He has
to be. This is torture. Each time he pumps into me, another desperate moan
leaves my mouth, reverberating through the room.
 He breaks the hold on my hip, only to use one hand to gently play with
my clit, rubbing at the same slow pace he’s using to fuck me. We’re both
nothing but frantic moans and pants, gasping each time he hits me in the
right spot.
The pain mixed with the pleasure drives me over the edge multiple
times without fully getting there because he changes his pace. Again.
I’ve had enough.
“Stop treating me like a porcelain doll and just fuck me like you mean
it, Branson.”
“You have a really dirty mouth. You know that, Angel?” he murmurs,
pressing a kiss to the space behind my ear. I tilt my head away from him,
needing to catch my breath.
“What do you expect? You’re the one who insists on calling me
‘Angel’ when you know I’m not,” I choke out after another slow stroke.
“Over the desk. Now.”

Evan
She scrambles to her feet, her perfect ass and tits bouncing as she does
what I ask. Still, she wants me to work for it, so she sits at the edge of the
desk, not where I told her, crossing her ankles, her chest heaving.
“Do you not like to listen or do you just like being punished?” I ask
gruffly.
“Both,” she replies, grinning. I grip her waist, turning her around,
gently easing her down until her chest is flat against the desk. I pull her up
lightly by her ponytail, curling it in my fist.
“I told you I was going to fuck you exactly like this, Angel. But you’ve
got to tell me if it gets too much for you. Okay?”
“Okay,” she breathes as I rub my cock between her ass.
I nudge the head of my cock into her slowly at first, seeing how much
she can take and when a whimper leaves her mouth, I push in harder on
instinct. This angle gives me the opportunity to hit every spot inside her
until all she sees is fucking stars and all she feels is me.
 Once I’ve filled her up and she situates, I start to pump in and out of
her, slowly at first as she gets used to my size again. I pull her head up,
wanting to see those tits bounce for me as I push into her, her ass bouncing
against my lap. The wet, sloppy noises we’re making, mixed in with the
sounds coming out of our mouths is obscenely glorious. As I try to tilt her
head towards me, so I can capture her lips, she keeps her eyes closed,
completely consumed with pleasure.
“Don’t get shy for me now, Angel. You’re perfect,” I murmur. All that
comes out is a soft whimper at the praise. I drive my cock into her again,
making the desk shake. “Does this feel good?”
“Mm hmm,” is the only thing that comes out of her mouth, and I tilt her
head towards me, stealing the sound from her lips, kissing her senseless.
“Use your words, pretty girl,” I whisper against her mouth. Her eyes
roll back in her head, her face twisting with pleasure as I continue my
merciless strokes, giving her everything.
“I- I can’t,” she stutters.
“You can,” I encourage, wiping the hair from her forehead before
grabbing her ponytail again. “Try for me.”
“It feels so good. Too good,” she moans. That’s exactly what I want to
hear because this feels like fucking heaven to me. Her warm pussy is so
tight around me, and she won’t stop clenching, milking me, pushing me
closer to the edge. I slip out of her, leaving her panting on the table. “What
are you doing?”
“I think it’ll feel better if you come all over my mouth. Don’t you
think?”
I flip her around with one hand under her waist until she’s on her back.
Her whole body is red now, full of pleasure. Her sex is already soaked,
every inch of her upper thighs covered with her arousal. I lower myself to
position my mouth with her desperate pussy and she leans up on her
elbows, watching me.
I keep my eyes locked with hers as I press my mouth to her extremely
sensitive clit, my tongue circling it as she cries out, her legs instantly
closing on my face.
She needs to get used to my touch. She needs to get used to the way I
make her feel. Every time I touch her, her body becomes so sensitive to me.
 “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” I murmur, pressing her thighs
apart. She rolls her head back and she does what I tell her to. I suck harder
on her clit then, rewarding her for listening to me.
“Evan,” she whines. I can’t help but fist my dick as I eat her out,
needing to come with her.
“I’ve got you, baby, don’t worry,” I say into her skin. She tries to roll
her hips against me, but her body gets taken over with pleasure that she
doesn’t get very far. “You’ve got to keep your fucking legs apart," I demand
when she tries to clench them across my face again.
“Evan, I can’t...”
“Do you want to come or not, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” she cries. “Yes.”
“Great, then act like it.”
When she finally listens to me, opening her legs just right, I suck and
lick over her flesh, driving her to the edge while pumping my dick in my
hand. It’s a fucking mess when she finally comes, her whole body trembling
and shaking beneath me as white streaks burst behind my eyes, the cum
spilling out of me onto the desk.
After we both get over the initial shock and the after-sex bliss, I take
her into my shower, cleaning up every part of her body and she lets me,
trapped in some sort of haze. I hold her close to me as I wash the soap suds
across her body, finally being able to have her in my arms. I can’t stop
touching her, holding her.
It feels like, for so long, I’ve been searching for this thing – not
necessarily a person, but more of a feeling – to finally complete me. To
quieten the noise in my head and the tremble in my hands. And slowly,
easily, Scarlett has become that for me – my absolute everything.
In realising that, I’ve also realised that I just need her close to me.
Always.
When we get to my bedroom, she doesn’t freak out like I expected.
Instead, she shrugs off the towel I wrapped her in, shoving me on the bed
before straddling my lap and riding me like a fucking goddess, while I
worship her like one.
“That was really good, Ev,” she whispers against my chest when we’ve
both come down from the high. “Like, I’m surprised at how good that
was.”
 I laugh a little, running my hand down her spine. “I told you it would
be worth it.”

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 42
Scarlett

As I open my eyes, I feel like my whole body is being weighed down

by a bulldozer. I can’t tell if it’s because my body aches so much, or from
Evan’s larger-than-life chest, pressing into mine. His weight calms me
somehow, makes me feel like everything is going to be okay.
We slept together. Evan Branson basically fucked my brains out and
now he’s sleeping on my chest, naked. I think — no, I know — that was the
best sex of my life. From the touching, the whispers, the edging, the teasing
to the cleanup; everything was fantastic. I’m still in shock about it. I knew
when he promised me his dick would be worth the wait, I just didn’t know
how much.
Just thinking about it — and feeling him against my leg now — makes
me extra giddy. I muster up the strength to push his body off mine as he
stirs, falling onto his back. He looks like a God, and he fucks like one too.
His face is perfectly relaxed, his jawline still sharp as hell as his chest rises
and falls, the sun peeking into his room, giving his blonde waves a gentle
glow.
I can’t help myself anymore, so I climb onto him, straddling his
abdomen as I press my hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady
beneath my palms. I press a kiss to his forehead. He still doesn’t wake. I
press another kiss to his cheek. I’m smiling so hard my mouth hurts when I
start to slide down him, kissing across his toned chest, until he starts to stir
more, opening his eyes a little, blinking rapidly.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I say, kissing along his face again. He
doesn’t say anything other than that boyish, I-just-woke-up groan that
leaves his mouth. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, his voice heavy with sleep that it
sounds so low and sexy. For someone who has a naked girl on top of him,
he doesn’t seem too thrilled. He rubs his eye with one hand, the other
finding my hip as he runs his thumb across the bone. It feels like he’s been
tethered to me. As if he just has to touch me. That’s more like it. “It’s, like,
six am.”
He’s not a morning person. I love it. I’m not a particularly a morning
person either, but I think I’ve turned into an Evan person. If being a
morning person means I get to wake up to this sight beneath me, I’ll get up
at six every day for the rest of my life.
“So?” I ask, cheerfully. He looks up at me now. Well, he looks at my
bare chest first before his eyes wander to mine. His cheeks turn a pretty
shade of pink that I can’t help but stroke my thumb against it. He’s like a
damn puppy – all sweet and soft.
“So…Why do you have so much energy?” he asks, but he’s grinning
now, his thumb still circling my hip and I notice the ribbon he’s still
wearing. I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips, loving the fresh
taste of him. He tastes faintly like toothpaste, but mostly like me.
“I always have energy. There’s never a dull moment with me,
Branson,” I say.
“Yeah, I realised,” he replies, laughing. He leans up in the bed, rests his
back against the headboard as he wraps his hands around my waist, shoving
me closer to him. I can feel his already hard dick pressing against me and
my heartbeat starts to pick up as I look down at him, matching the smile on
his face. He does the stupidest thing he can do and rolls my hips against
him.
“Ev,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at him. He ignores me.
“You just woke up and you’re already this wet for me?” he whispers,
pressing a kiss to the top of my chest. I would be embarrassed, but I always
feel everything so deeply when it comes to him. Even if that means being so
incredibly turned on just by waking up on top of him. He rolls me over him
again and I can feel my arousal coating his dick. I brace my hands on his
shoulders, leaning further into him.
“Don’t start things you don’t have time to finish,” I say into his neck.
 “I could go on like this all day with you, Scarlett, you know that,” he
says, diving into a messy kiss that’s all teeth, skin, and lips. A huge part of
me hates feeling like I’m no longer in control, but another part of me,
buried deep down, secretly loves it. I’ve not felt this happy in a long time
and God, I deserve it.
I hear the sound of scratching against the door. I ignore it, kissing him
back before it gets louder.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, breaking away from the kiss, narrowing
my eyes at him.
“It’s just our dog. Come closer to me,” he replies, pushing my chest
closer to his, but I resist when the scratching intensifies.
“Let that poor dog in here right now, Branson,” I demand. He scoffs,
not taking me seriously. When I don’t laugh or smile at him, he huffs,
sliding out from underneath me.
All six-foot and three inches of him slides off the bed as he pulls on his
boxers. He’s got a nice, firm ass that sways slightly as he walks over to the
door. I pull a soft cotton shirt from his bedside drawer, slipping it on.
Before I get time to process it, a huge golden Labrador jumps right onto
the bed, trapping me down.

Evan
I might pass out.
I might die.
Or I might throw up. I don’t know.
All I know is that Scarlett Voss is playing with my dog in my bed,
giggling and my heartbeat won’t stop beating a million miles an hour.
“You like dogs?” I ask when the words come. Mila has basically
squashed her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Scarlett’s red face pops up
under Mila’s tummy.
“I love them! I didn’t get a proper look at her last time,” she replies,
gasping as Mila pins her down again. “My dad never let us get one because
Henry gets too irritable with fur.” She manages to sit up next to me, and
Mila lies across both of our legs, her head in Scarlett’s lap.
 “You’re such a good dog, aren’t you?” she coos in a sweet baby voice.
“What’s your name, sweet girl?”
“Mila,” I say through a grin. She looks up at me and I swear I see tears
in her eyes.
“Mila,” she repeats, cooing again as she scratches her on the head.
“You’re just so cute. I want to take you home.”
“Like she would ever let you,” I scoff. Scarlett frowns and Mila looks
up at me with those doe eyes. “She’s too loyal for he own good, aren’t you
girl?”
I look over at Scarlett as we both fuss over the excited puppy as she
rolls over my bed, and I swear I get a glimpse into our future. Mornings like
this. Both of us snuggled up in bed. Our bed. A huge Labrador rolling
around us as we treat her like a baby. That’s what I want my future to look
like. There’s no future I want to be a part of where Scarlett isn’t with me.
When she’s still giggling, running her hands over Mila’s fur, I grasp her
chin in my hand, turning her towards me. “Scar?”
“Hm?”
“You’re it for me.”
“I know,” she mutters, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “No one would
be willing to put up with your shit other than me.”
“Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”
She shrugs. “Guess so.”

Scarlett
“Fun night?”
I’m startled by the sound of Kennedy’s voice as I lock the door behind
me. It was already a struggle trying to sneak into the building without
people from school seeing me, especially not Miles since his house is so
close by and he often practices early. I usually see him when I’m doing my
weekly walk of shame, and I did not want him to catch me this morning.
Instead, I’m caught by Kennedy. She’s sitting in the dark, the blinds in the
living room closed as she eats some cereal on the kitchen island.
 “Jesus, Ken, you need to start wearing a bell,” I say, sighing against the
door before walking over to her.
“How would that work if I’m sitting down?” she asks curiously, tilting
her head to the side. Some of the milk dribbles down her chin and she wipes
it away with the sleeve of her dressing gown. “Good night?” she asks again.
“Yeah, it was okay,” I reply, moving towards the fridge, opening it so
the cool air can hit me. I’m lying to both of us here. ‘Okay,’ doesn’t mean
shit compared to what happened last night. It was more than okay.
“These came for you this morning,” she says. I close the fridge, turning
towards her and then I notice the black box and bouquet of flowers. The
box is covered in tissue paper with an envelope on top. The bouquet is a
mix of orange and pink tulips. “Who are they from?” she sing-songs,
peaking over at me as I pick up the envelope. We both know who they’re
from. Still, I open the envelope and read the note.

I got you these in hopes of doing them together. Then, I figured it would
turn into a screaming match where you’d tell me I’m doing it wrong, and
I’d let you. Let me know when you want to start, and we’ll see who
finishes first. Spoiler Alert: I’m not going to let you win at everything.
Yours, Evan Branson.

I laugh to myself as I re-read the note. I did not peg him for the
romantic type at all. Still, it fills my chest with warmth and my smile
doubles. Kennedy watches me like a movie as I open the box to find Lego
flowers, matching the ones that are sitting on the island, as well as a Bonsai
tree made of Lego.
Evan Branson bought me Lego flowers.

* * *

I thought the weirdest part of this whole thing was the fact that I
actually like Evan, but it’s not. The weirdest part of it all is that I feel totally
and completely safe with him and I don’t worry about him doing something
that can hurt me. Everything about him just feels right. Beneath all the
arguments and petty comments, I feel like I just know him as much as he
knows me. We spent so long picking at each other’s weaknesses, knowing
where to hurt each other, but it really just allowed me to know him.
That’s why I know that when he’s not in the library, he’s in the music
rooms. As I make my way over, I try to think of a way to thank him for the
gift. I’ve not received any gifts before from people I’ve slept with, but the
fact he got me something makes me feel like it’s much more than that. That
it’s bigger than the both of us.
When I get to the room, I stand outside it for a minute, transfixed by the
piece he’s playing. It sounds like ‘Linda’s song’. The one he wrote for me.
It’s going to take me a while to get used to the fact that he wrote something
and dedicated it to me just because. That’s the thing about Evan, he doesn’t
do things because I ask him, he does it just because.
“Are you going to come in or keep staring some more?”
I didn’t even notice that he had stopped playing until his eyes
connected with mine in the mirror. I push open the door slightly, slipping
into the room. It’s hard to look at him without thinking of everything he did
to me last night. About every dirty word, every touch…
“I just wanted to say thank you for the flowers and for the Lego ones,” I
say, twisting my fingers in the sleeve of my shirt. He angles his body
towards mine, swinging his legs over the bench.
He shrugs. “You make me want to do cute shit like that for you.”
“I suck at giving gifts,” I admit. This is why I’ve been so nervous. I
don’t want him to buy me things because I know there’s nothing I can give
him in return. He could try to ease my guilt, telling me that all he needs is
me, but sometimes that can’t be enough. I can’t be enough to satisfy him.
There’s no way.
“You probably don’t,” he says easily.
“See you said ‘probably.’ Which means a part of you knows that what
I’m saying is true,” I challenge.
He frowns. “Scarlett,” he says gently.
“No, like, I’m actually terrible. Unless someone tells me exactly what
they want, I get awful gifts,” I argue, cutting him off. He studies me for a
minute before pinning his hands across his chest. I notice the ribbon he’s
still wearing on his wrist, and I tug it. “See, that’s the best you’re going to
get from me, Branson.”
 He laughs quietly. “So, if it was my birthday next week, what would
you get me?” he asks. I think about it for a minute. It’s not that I don’t know
him. I could get him a hundred things I know he likes, but I don’t know
how to get someone something so meaningful that it makes them cry.
Something abstract and just different.
“A tie,” I say finally.
He tilts his head as he repeats, “A tie?” I nod, pulling my lip between
my teeth. “That’s pathetic, Scarlett. Come on, you can do better than that.”
His encouragement makes me think harder. Dig deeper. “Okay, maybe
a plushie in the shape of a music note because I know you like music.”
“Now that’s better,” he praises. He tilts his head towards me. “Keep
going.”
“Maybe I’d make you a playlist.”
“You’d do that?”
“I love music and you love music. It’s one of the things we have in
common, but our tastes are different. I could find something that’s a bit of
both of us.”
“I like that idea.”
“Yeah?” He nods. I shift uncomfortably, trying to think of something
else to say. This shouldn’t be so hard. I’ve spent so long arguing with him,
now I don’t know what to say, or how to act. I’ve never been a relationship
kind of person, but he makes it seem easy.
“Hey, Scar?” My stomach responds first with butterflies at the stupid
nickname. “Stop worrying. You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. Just let
yourself have this, okay?”
“I’m trying.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
“Perfect.”
“Amazing.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” he says, punching out each syllable with extra
force. I lean forward, grab his shirt, and pull him into me, kissing him so
hard that I lose my balance.

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 43
Evan

“What have you done to her?” Miles asks, storming into the kitchen as I
sit by the breakfast bar, eating my cereal. Last time I checked, I was on my
best behaviour. My grades have gone up. I’ve felt more relaxed than usual. I
might not have got what I wanted by being back in the business, but I’m
starting to like this new life a lot more because I get to share it with my
favourite person.
“Done to who?” I say through a mouthful of Cheerio’s.
“Scarlett, you idiot.”
“Oh,” I say. I try to think of something that we’ve left unresolved, but I
come up empty. All I’ve done recently is whisper filthy things in her ear
while we prepare for our last report, eat her out until she’s a whimpering
mess, and hold her hand. That’s it. I end up shrugging in response.
“Oh?” he repeats, throwing an empty can at me, hitting me in the arm.
“Okay, ouch?” I say, rubbing the sore spot of my shoulder as he walks
further to me.
“Wren is freaking out. Scarlett hasn’t left her room all day because of
something that got delivered.” He leans forward and pokes me in the arm.
“From.” Another poke. “You. Did you send her a dead body to her room or
something?”
“No, you sicko. I just sent her a gift,” I say truthfully, picking up my
bowl to put it into the sink. Miles follows me, watching me intently. “Why
are you breathing down my neck?”
“Because my girlfriend is worried about her friend because of you. So,
you better-”
 I cut him off with a condescending hand to his chest, pushing him away
from me. “Careful who you’re talking to, Davis, or I’ll personally deliver a
dead man into your room.”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Just fix it, please,”
“She’s just being dramatic. I’ll go over when she’s cooled down.”
Except when I get to her apartment an hour later, Wren and Kennedy
are standing by their kitchen island, arms across their chest, expecting me.
It’s like walking into the Lion’s den. I didn’t know two girls could be so
fucking terrifying, but they are. They both glared at me, their faces red with
anger.
“What did you do, Branson?” Kennedy asks.
“You guys need to chill. She’s just being dramatic. I promise you when
I speak to her, she’ll calm down,” I say, doing my best to convince them,
but they don’t seem to take it well. I step further into the room, but they
make me back up, their protective presence deterring me a little.
“She better. Or so help me God, you will not live to see another day on
this earth,” Wren warns. She’s a lot scarier than Miles’s empty threats.
I hold my hands up in surrender, side stepping down the corridor until I
reach her room. I knock on the door twice, calling out her name, but she
doesn’t respond. I hear the faint footsteps as she unlocks the door. I wait a
few seconds before opening it.
As I expected, she’s standing with her back to me, staring at the
painting I bought her. Her room must be the biggest one in the apartment
because she somehow manages to fit a queen sized bed, a desk, a walk-in
closet, and en suite. Her walls are painted a light grey colour with black and
white movie posters covering the walls. It’s just so her.
I knew the second she stared at it in the gallery on our fake date as she
held my hand, I had to get it for her. It took me longer than I needed to, but
I wanted her to have it. For it to be just hers. There’s already so much art in
this apartment - courtesy of Kennedy — but I wanted her to have something
of her own and the painting makes so much sense for her. ‘You Are Home’
because that’s what my brain tells me whenever I’m around her. She is what
home feels like.
“You got this for me?” she whispers. I can’t tell if she’s angry at me for
doing this or if she’s that emotional that she can’t look at me. I take a step
towards her.
 “It was supposed to come tomorrow. I was meant to take you out for
dinner first,” I say, admitting the truth. I wanted to show her how good I
would be for her and to her before giving her a gift as expensive as this one,
but the universe had other plans, apparently.
“How did you even get it?” she asks, slowly turning around to me, her
arms still against her chest. My breath nearly gets knocked out of me as she
blinks up at me, her brown eyes full of innocence, but I know she’s all sin.
Her hair is down again, those deep brown waves bouncing off her
shoulders. “It wasn’t for sale.”
“I have my ways,” I say, shrugging, shoving my hands into my pockets.
She steps closer to me as she narrows her eyes.
“How much did it cost you?”
“Two hundred thousand.” Her eyes basically bulge out of her head. I
rest my hand on her shoulder, steadying her as she sways a little. I had
enough savings and I wanted to do something nice for her. I know she’s not
a stranger to money, so I’m confused as to why she’s so shocked. “What?
Are you mad at me?”
“Evan,” she whispers. “Don’t tell me you used all your savings to buy
me this. I don’t even spend that much money on myself. I- I’m going to pay
you back.”
I silence her ridiculous rambling with a kiss and she’s still in shock
before she melts into me. She kisses me back, but she pushes off my chest
as she looks up at me, her eyes filled with worry. “I’m serious. I’m going to
pay you back every penny.”
“Stop saying that, Scar. Let me be nice to you,” I say before kissing her
again. I hold her face to mine as I kiss the side of her mouth. “Plus, I know
a better way you can pay me back. Without money.”
“Yeah?”
“Come to dinner with me tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight.” She thinks
about it for a second, twisting her lip between her teeth before smiling wide.
I want to take her on a real date. One where we’re doing it because we want
to.
“Okay, but I’m paying.”
“If you pay, you’ve got to wear the red dress.”
“This deal seems like you’re getting the better end of it,” she
challenges, holding her chin high.
 “Just wear it. I’m begging you.”
“You know I love it when you beg for me, Branson,” she purrs, trailing
her hand up my arm. She’s going to have to wait for tonight. Her friends
still don’t know what we’re doing and I sure as hell know she wouldn’t
keep quiet if I touched her now. “You won’t be able to keep your hands off
me if I do.”
“That’s the whole point,” I whisper back.

* * *

She was right. Of course, she was right. I told her to wear the dress and
she did. And she looks fucking stunning. She looks like she’s mine and I
can’t stop touching her.
On the car ride here, I kept my hand on her thigh, needing the warmth
beneath my fingertips. When I stepped out of the car, I held my hand out for
her to clasp her palm into mine. When the wind swayed in her face, I
brushed her hair out of her eyes and kept my hand linked with hers until we
reached the restaurant.
I took her to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, everyone’s heads
turning when we walked in like fucking royalty. She held onto my arm,
letting me guide her until we got up the stairs to a balcony seat, overlooking
the rivers and the mountains.
I said I would be the best boyfriend she ever had and that’s exactly
what I’m trying to do. To show her how in awe I am of everything she does.
How I’m so incredibly proud of her. How every single thing she does lights
me up inside.
As the sun starts to fade, I can’t stop looking at her. Her face is flushed
like it always is whenever I’m around. She is practically glowing as she
talks animatedly with her hands, while I watch her. She still drops her eyes
after four seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, glancing to either the plate
in front of us or to the scenery.
All I can think about is how full my heart feels to finally have her. How
badly I’m in love with her smart, brilliant, and beautiful mind.
“Stop staring at me,” she mutters, pushing her hair behind her ear,
showing off her silver earrings. “You’re making me nervous.”
 “Angel, you’ve been making me nervous all my life. How do you think
I feel?” I say back, chuckling. She shakes her head at me as she tries to hide
her giddy smile.
“Can I ask you something?” she says as she picks at the garlic dough
balls in the middle of the table. She shoves a piece in her mouth.
“Anything.”
She swallows. “What do you fear the most?”
“Getting all existential on me before the main course, sweetheart?”
She laughs a little. “I’m being serious. We have these great moments —
moments where we argue, and you look right through me, and I don’t
know…I feel like I want to know everything about you.”
“I’m scared of a lot of things, Angel,” I say truthfully. She leans back in
her chair a little, listening to me intently. I want her to know everything
about me. Everything. “Growing up, I was always anxious, always waiting
for the other ball to drop. I thought that things would happen to me — bad
things — if I didn’t do a certain thing. I always had to count to a specific
number before falling asleep and if I didn’t, my brain would trick me into
believing that I was going to get killed. And that was just at the beginning.”
She leans forward now, reaching out to hold onto my hand. “Then when my
mom left, I thought that was the other shoe. That it needed to happen to
stop the compulsive thoughts, but it didn’t. I just got worse until one day I
wouldn’t leave the car because it didn’t feel right. Something in me was
telling me that if I left, something bad would happen. So, my dad finally
took me to see a doctor and I got diagnosed with OCD and then a few
months later, I realised I had anxiety.”
“Why do you think you were anxious all the time?” she asks quietly.
“I guess I just couldn’t believe the life I was living. It felt like I was
trapped in someone else’s body. Nothing truly felt like it was mine.
Everything felt so fleeting, like it could just disappear at any moment, and I
was just constantly in anticipation, waiting for it to happen.”
She nods before dropping her gaze to the table again. “Do you still feel
like that now? With me?”
I shake my head. “Not anymore. Not when I know I’ve got your back
and you’ve got mine, no matter what.” She squeezes my hand again,
rubbing her thumb against it and it makes me relax, feeling that much
lighter. “What about you? What’s your biggest fear.”
 “Being forgotten,” she replies instantly. “I know it’s stupid because
there’s going to be a day where that last person who remembers you
disappears, and you just become nothing. That’s what I don’t want to
happen. I want my name to mean something when I’m gone.”
It feels like she’s speaking right into my soul. There’s always been that
looming fear that no matter how hard I can try to make something of
myself, to make myself seen, it’s not going to last forever. Day by day,
people are forgetting you. Whether that be strangers or people you once
knew. Then one day, there’s going to be that last person who remembers
you and they’re going to go too. The worst part is, you’ll never know when
it’s going to happen. It just will.
“It already does. You and your name mean so much to me. And it’s
going to continue to mean so much to me until I can give you my last
name,” I say easily. She narrows her eyes at me, sizing me up.
“First of all, what makes you think we’re going to get married? And
second of all, what makes you think I want your last name?” she quizzes,
sounding and looking genuinely taken aback. I know dropping the marriage
hint is way too early, but I know what I want. There’s not going to be
anyone else but her. She’s it for me.
“Because I know you. I understand you more than I understand myself,
sometimes. We’re not just a one-time thing, anymore, Angel,” I say. Her
lips part slightly, her brown eyes huge and wild. “But you’re right. You’d
only take my last name to combine it with yours.”
She nods at that, her face breaking into a smile so beautiful it almost
hurts. “Exactly. Because we’re equals.”
“Exactly,” I say back.
“Which means no more trying to save me when I’m a damsel in
distress. Or buying me expensive things just because.” She says the last two
words with an eye roll, including sarcastic air quotes. “I’m perfectly
capable of doing things on my own, Branson.”
“I know. I just-” I sigh, shaking my head a little. “There’s nothing I
wouldn’t do to make you happy, Scar.”
She snorts. “How many women have you said that to?”
“None.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you should because I mean it.”
 We spend the rest of the meal talking about everything and nothing. She
tells me about her dreams about having her own clothing line for Voss and I
tell her that I know she can do it.
She tells me about everything she wishes to do when she finishes NU
as we walk back to her apartment. It’s a long walk, but she doesn’t stop
talking. She tells me about how she’s excited to see her dad again when he’s
home and I tell her that I’d want to meet him too at some point.
She tells me how she wants to get cats when she has her own place, and
we argue over her being a cat person and me preferring dogs. Really, I
could be convinced into being a cat person if she wants one so badly. After
seeing her with Mila, I’m sure I could convince her too.
Even when our throats dry, my feet are aching and she’s laughing at her
own jokes, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
As I stand with her outside her apartment door, she shoves her hands
into her coat pockets, neither of us wanting the night to end.
“You know what you said earlier?” she asks. I hum in response. “Would
you really do anything for me, or were you just saying that?”
“Anything,” I say.
She laughs quietly, her hair brushing in front of her face a little. “You’d
even steal a whiteboard for me?”
I groan, throwing my head back. “How many times are we going to
have this conversation, Angel? I didn’t steal your damn whiteboard.”
“Oh, so you’d do anything for me, but stealing is where you draw the
line?” she retorts, her cheeks flaming as her hands fall to her side. “What if
I was being attacked, or stalked, and my stalker had a collection of
whiteboards, a fetish of some sorts. You’d have to steal one to prove to the
police that your girlfriend isn’t crazy. What then, Branson, huh? What.” She
pushes me in the chest. “Then.”
Girlfriend. That word does something insane to my insides. It sits on
my chest nicely, like a warm fuzzy cat making itself at home. My girlfriend,
Scarlett. I love the sound of that.
“So, you’re my girlfriend, now, huh?” I mock.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s beside the point. I want to know if what you
said was actually true.”
I grip her chin in my hand, watching the surprise wash across her face
as her eyes search mine. I bring my face closer to hers, nudging our noses
together as she takes in a deep breath.
“Yeah,” I murmur against her lips, “I’d steal it for you, tesoro.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Did you just call me-”
I silence her with a kiss. “Just shut up.”

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 44
Scarlett

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this light and freeing in my life. The doctors
have finally cleared my dad to go back home, and I haven’t been able to see
him since he woke up. According to my mom, he’s been begging for us all
to get together again and I want to be back at home.
Arthur gave me a dirty look when I walked through the doors, but I
held my ground and my head high. He’s always been protective over me,
but he’s started to just become an annoying leech. Even after all that went
down, he’s not bothered to ask if I’m okay even if I was trapped in a room
with a murderer. I know we’re never going to have a perfect relationship
and I can live like that. I’ve got Henry and Leo when I need them, knowing
they’ll always have my back. And Alex too, when he’s available to talk
given the time difference.
Seeing my dad here, walking around, smiling is something I didn’t
think I would see. As much as I tried to be optimistic, the possible reality
was terrifying. I never thought I’d see him work a barbecue again. I never
thought I’d see him smile as I surprised him at work. I never thought I’d
hear him sing while spinning my mom around in the kitchen.
No matter how tense our relationship gets or how many times I’ve felt
ignored by him, I’ve always known his intentions were good. All he’s
wanted is to keep me safe which is why I was surprised he didn’t scream at
me for putting myself in danger multiple times just to find out what
happened to him. It’s all been worth it though. To be in my dad’s arms right
now, neither of us saying anything as we hold on tight to each other, all of
the pain has been worth it.
“Where’s your boyfriend? I thought he was coming,” my dad says
when he pulls out of the hug, looking around the room as if Evan was just
going to turn up out of thin air. That lasted longer than I thought. After
keeping small talk just that — small — I knew my nosy family would be
wondering about me finally finding my person.
 “Word gets around here fast, doesn’t it,” I mutter, shooting Henry a
look as I move out of my dad’s arms. He shrugs, innocently, downing a
glass of orange juice.
“Not really. It was kind of obvious after the way he came rushing after
you at the hospital,” Leo says, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air.
My mom walks behind him, pulling the joint from his lips and he
frowns.
Everyone’s in here now: my dad sitting on the stool next to the island,
my mom behind him rubbing his shoulders, Leo by the counter with a fresh
joint in his hand and Henry by the fridge, eating as much as he can. There
has nothing I’ve missed quite as much as I’ve missed this chaotic, brilliant,
and wonderful family. They’re just my family. My perfectly imperfect
family who are surprisingly okay with me dating someone they would have
despised months ago, no matter how desperate my mom was to get me into
a relationship.
“Why are you guys so chill about it?” I ask, looking between my
brothers and my parents. Arthur is off brooding in the corner, being a
complete baby about this. “You do know he’s a Branson, right?”
“We know, but I know he likes you. A lot. He always has,” my mom
says, beaming at me dreamily. It’s been her dream for years for me to get
into a stable relationship and now that I’m finally in one, she can’t stop
smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“What do you mean, always?” I ask, confused. They must have been
able to pick up on the fact we were faking it last time. It doesn’t take a
genius. My mom’s smile is so wide I don’t know how her face doesn’t
crack.
“You probably don’t remember when you went to your first event with
us as a family and Evan was there. You two were the youngest at the kids
table and you were crying because your brothers were leaving you out. He
helped you stop crying and held your hand and walked you to us and told us
to take care of you so you wouldn’t be alone.”
The flashbacks come back to me in a blur. I hardly remember many
events from when I was a kid, but I knew I wasn’t the only child at them
other than my brothers. There were always little kids running around, their
parents scolding them for getting their Sunday best dirty. I do remember
feeling lonely most of the time while my brothers purposefully left me out.
 “That was him? I always thought it was some random boy, but it was…
him.”
“Yes, my love. And he sent me a home cooked meal while I was in
hospital after I woke up with a note and everything.”
“You’re lying,” I gasp.
“Nope. I was there when he came. I thought he already told you,”
Henry says. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, swiping until he
pulls up a picture he took of a handwritten note. In Evan’s handwriting.

Hi, Mateo.
You don’t know me, but I wanted to tell you a few things. Firstly,
I’m sorry you have to wake up to the news of your brother passing. From
the very short conversation we had, he seemed like a kind person, and I
know Scarlett cared for him a lot. You should know how highly your
daughter talks of you. At first it was kind of annoying, knowing my dad
isn’t exactly a saint but then I realised it’s because no matter how hard of
a time you give each other you’re always there. She’s been working hard
on trying to find out what happened to you and now that she has, she’s
turned into an even more confident and brave woman. She makes me
work for every smile she gives me. She frightens me by doing reckless
things and grinning as if she didn’t try to give me a heart attack. Anyway,
what I’m trying to say is that all she really wants for you is to be seen,
appreciated and respected. I know how important it is for her to be treated
that way and I’ll try my best to do it too, but I ask one thing of you: look
at Scarlett. Like, really, *look* at her. Because if you look long enough,
you’ll see exactly what I see: an absolute angel.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, blinking at the phone like it’s going to

disintegrate. “Holy, holy shit.”
“Are you done?” my mom murmurs. I nod, my mouth still wide open.
“We’ve seen your designs, Scarlett.”
My heartbeat starts to pick up. I only showed Gio my designs because I
know they’re not perfect. He managed to change a few and get them into
the clothing discreetly, another designer taking credit so my dad wouldn’t
know.
 “You have? Did- Did you like them?” I ask nervously.
“They’re beautiful, tesoro,” my dad says, smiling wide.
“You think so?”
He nods before sighing, dropping his shoulders. “I think I was so afraid
of seeing what would happen if you became like us. If you were dragged
into something as messy as it was these last few months, but you’ve proven
to me that you can handle it. And with a little work with an expert, I’d want
you to be our fashion designer for the new collection of Voss.”
Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming right? This is not supposed to
happen to me. In my dream, I was meant to create a portfolio, present it to
my dad and the board and then they’d accept me. Not this.
“Holy shit. Are you serious?” I exclaim, basically jumping with joy.
God, my mouth is starting to hurt from smiling so much. My mom glares at
me. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“Yes, my love, I’m serious,” my dad says, and he barely gets the words
out before I trap him into another huge hug, his large arms wrapping around
me tightly, tugging me closer to him.

I thought I was on cloud nine this morning, but now I’ve reached a new
high. One I don’t ever want to come down from. When I get to Florentino’s
there’s no queue and I get my coffee within two minutes. As I walk home in
the dark, I don’t feel worried or unsafe near campus. It’s quiet out and my
music shuffles to all the perfect songs. It’s a good day. It’s been a good day.
For once, I don’t feel like the feeling won’t last. I don’t worry that I’m
going to run out of this insanely positive energy. I just want to bathe in it,
soak it all up until it’s all I become. Just pure bliss.
Even when I get into bed later that night and I check my phone, I’m
smiling at the screen so hard it almost cracks because Evan texted me. He
sent me a picture of an adorable black kitten, smushed against his face. His
cheeks are a little red in the photo, his smile contagious as this random
kitten claws at his shirt. God, he looks so handsome like that and so cute at
the same time. I immediately save the picture, adding it to an album I hope
to keep adding to.

EVAN: Saw this kitten and thought of you. Tiny but viscous.
 ME: Ew stop!!!
EVAN: Stop what?
ME: Thinking about me. You’re like obsessed or something.
EVAN: Or something.
EVAN: Do you ever think about me?
ME: Not on purpose…
EVAN: Sounds like a win to me.
ME: This oddly feels like that one episode of New Girl.
EVAN: GAVE ME COOKIE GOT YOU COOKIE!!!!
ME: You’re getting blocked.
EVAN: You’d never do that. I can see that you saved it to your camera roll, Angel.

Fuck. I’ve been caught.

Me: Only so I can print it out and frame it.

I realise how that sounds and quickly send out another response.

ME: NOT IN A WEIRD WAY, YOU WEIRDO.

EVAN: Sure.
EVAN: Send me a pic of you. It’s only fair.

I sit up further in the bed. I look like a certified mess right now; my hair
is unruly; I’m wearing one of Henry’s old shirts and sleep shorts. I’m not
my usual put-together self. But with him, I don’t seem to care anymore. It’s
hard to be concerned with how he sees me when he’s seen all of me – the
good, the bad, and the ugly.
So, I send him a selfie, flipping him off.

ME: Saw this and thought of you. Hot, but still pisses me off.
EVAN: Very funny.
EVAN: Are you calling me hot or yourself?
ME: Both?
EVAN: Right answer.
ME: Thank you, btw.
EVAN: What for???
 ME: My dad. The letter. The food. Holding my hand.
ME: I got a job, too.
EVAN: I hope you know how proud I am of you. Like, so, fucking, sickeningly proud of you.
You could do anything you wanted to. I’m in your corner, Scar. Always.

This is a new low for me because I’m sitting in my bed, staring at my

phone screen as I start to cry over a text Evan has sent me. I might just be
hormonal and overwhelmed with the amount of shit that has gone down
these last few weeks. I try to compose a reply, but my eyes can’t help but
snag on those words.
I hope you know how proud I am of you.

OceanofPDF.com
 45
Scarlett

If there’s one thing us Voss’ like, it’s a big party. But not just any party.
It needs to be a blowout party with a DJ, a buffet, and a dance floor, or
nothing at all. We always hold our best parties out of state, usually in L.A,
where most of our family live as well as where our headquarters is located.
The second my dad got back on his feet, he put together one of the best
‘Welcome Back’ parties he could.
With Lucas put away and the people infiltrating the committee out, I’ve
felt so much better. It also helps that Evan and I have submitted our final
report and we’re due to hear our grade within the next few weeks. I thought
we could all use the getaway and celebration, so I brought Wren, Miles,
Evan, and Kennedy with me on the flight to LA.
Only problem? Having to explain the room situation. I booked three
rooms and I’ve been trying to tell Kennedy that I’m not sharing a room with
her since we got to the runway, but she’s not been making it easy.
“This is going to be exactly like the good old days,” Kennedy says,
clutching her iPad to her chest like a kid. We’ve been waiting on the
runway for almost half an hour. Wren and Miles are standing in front of us,
Evan beside them. He keeps turning back, glancing at me and it’s making
me blush. I hate it.
“Yeah, Ken-”
“Oh my God,” she exclaims. “Did you pack the face masks? Because I
didn’t get any. I mean, it’s LA, we can find some anywhere but still. Do you
think the room will-’’
 I cut her off with my hand on her shoulder. “Actually, I’m sharing a
room with Evan.” He turns around now, the satisfied smirk on his face.
Wren and Miles are caught up in their own world as she lists things to him,
making sure he packed them while he kisses all of her face, leaving her in
giggles.
“What?” she screeches. “Did he bribe you?”
“No, Kennedy. We’ve been, sort of, definitely dating.”
Wren and Miles still don’t turn around to that. I was sure it would set
off some trigger in her brain, but she’s too caught up. He’s still kissing all
over her face and she’s letting him.
Yep.
It’s their world and we’re just living in it.
“It’s about time that you two broke,” Kennedy says, beaming. “It was
getting sickening watching you guys pretend to compete with each other.”
“Oh, we still do,” Evan says.
“Yeah,” I add. “The sex is better that way.”
When the plane finally arrives, I take my seat next to Evan as everyone
else gets comfortable to sleep for the two hour flight. I don’t think I could
sleep if I tried. I’m constantly hyper-aware of him. Our seats are the normal
distance apart, but with his heavy hand on my thigh, it feels like every part
of us is touching.
“You know what, Branson?” I ask into the comfortable silence, the
second the thought pops into my head. “I think you’re good for me.”
“Finally,” he groans. “I’ve been telling you that for ages.”
“I know,” I giggle. I giggle? What the fuck is wrong with me? I shrug,
trying to play it off. “I don’t know. I think you challenge me, push me to go
that extra mile and I do. The same way I challenge you, but not in a way
that means you’re trying to do or be better than me. I like that about us.”
“Yeah?” I nod, looking up at him. He places his arm around my
shoulder, pulling me closer to him. “I’m on your team, Scar. I always have
been. I always play by your rules. If you want to hate me, fine. If you want
to hate-kiss me or beat me up, fine. I’d give you the world if you let me.
God, I’d give you anything you want.”
“I don’t want the world, Ev.”
“Tell me what you want, Angel, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Right now? I think I just want you,” I admit. “Just you.”
 “I’m yours.”

* * *

By the time we get down to the lobby, the party is raging outside while
people dance around with champagne flutes, the music carrying from the
lobby right outside. I hold onto Evan’s arm as we walk through the crowd,
feeling claustrophobic and at home all at the same time. I’ve been to parties
before. I’ve been to millions of them over the last few years but for some
reason, this feels special. Different. A good different.
Because I have a job in the company that I’ve been dying to get for
years. My friends are here, enjoying themselves and best of all, I have Evan
Branson on my arm. Just thinking about that sentence makes me want to
throw up a little. I never thought I’d end up here, actually enjoying his
presence, it being the thing that comforts me. In a way, part of me knows
that it was inevitable.
“Do you think they’ve seen us yet?” I whisper to him, glancing down
towards the pool where my parents stand. My dad’s being greeted by one of
our partners, while my mom links her arm in his, most likely drowning out
their boring conversation.
“We just walked out the door, so probably not,” he whispers back,
leaning down to me. I twist us in the opposite direction, finding a corner to
the side of the building to hide behind. When we’re out of view, I push his
back up against the wall. “We’ve been here two minutes and you already
want to rip my clothes off. This is new, even for you.”
“Oh, shut up,” I murmur angrily, but he grins. I start to smooth out his
tuxedo. It looks perfect. He looks perfect. His bow tie is actually tied, but
I’m just nervous. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”
He shrugs. “Talk about how amazing I am?” I frown. He places his
hands over mine, my blue ribbon still tied around his wrist. I take in a
breath. “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve already met your mom and I’ve halfway
won your dad over.”
“I can’t relax,” I say back. “My mom is easy to please, but my dad…
I’ve never had a boyfriend before. Not a real one, anyway. He’s either going
to hate you or love you. There’ll be no in between.”
“Do I make you happy?”
 “What?”
“Do I make you happy? Do I constantly try to make sure you’re
comfortable, happy, safe, and satisfied?” I nod. He said he would be the
best boyfriend I ever had if I let him, and he is. “That’s all a dad would
want for their daughter. I’d want the same thing for my kid if I had one.”
The thought of Evan having a kid makes the butterflies in my stomach
go feral. From the way he takes care of me, looks after me, I can tell he
would be perfect at it. Even with all of his anxieties, he would be the best
parent ever. Especially to little girls. Holy shit, I’m getting flustered just
thinking about it.
“You want kids in the future?” I ask.
“Of course, I do. I’d need something to break the cycle and give
someone more than I had,” he admits easily. He holds my hands to his lips,
kissing them. It’s cheesy, but I let him do it. “Come on. We’re going to be
fine.”
And of course, because Evan says we’re going to be alright, I believe
him.
When we make our way over, I keep my cool and hold my head high.
He’s right. My dad would want nothing other than my happiness. My dad’s
tanned face breaks out into a huge smile as he looks at me and Evan. I
swear my mom is already on the brink of tears.
“Scarlett,” my dad greets, nodding at me. Everything feels too
emotional already and nothing has even happened yet. He flicks his gaze to
Evan who is still holding my hand.
“Dad, this is Evan,” I say, turning to Ev, who has the sweetest smile on
his face as he extends his hand to my dad. “My boyfriend.”
Those words are seriously coming out of my mouth right now. This
feels like some sort of alternate reality. It feels so right, yet so unreal. Being
with Evan is like seeing all the good and the bad things with the world and
still loving them effortlessly. Nobody makes me feel more cared for or as
beautiful as I do when I’m with him. And now he’s shaking my dad’s hand.
“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” my dad says through a
smile before dropping his hand.
“Likewise,” Evan says. “It’s nice to meet you.” He grins down at me
and then back to my dad. “I hope you know what an amazing daughter you
have, Mr. Voss.”
 I elbow him in his rib at his comment as he looks at me adoringly.
That’s just the thing about Evan; he’s constantly lifting me up without me
knowing.
“I know,” my dad replies, locking his eyes with me.
His gaze drops from mine, moving to Evan and I have to take in a deep
breath, so I don’t start to cry. This is all I ever wanted from my dad. I just
wanted him to see me. To understand me. To let me know that he can see
how hard I’ve been trying to get him to realise that I’m capable of more
than he thinks.
“Thank you, Evan,” he says. Ev and I blink at him, neither of us
knowing what to say or what he means. “Thank you for showing me what’s
been in front of me my whole life. I was too scared to get her involved and I
didn’t want to ruin her. It shouldn’t have taken all this for me to realise that,
but hearing about the way you have cared for her and looked after her,
doing what I was unable to, made me realise that she is a lot tougher than I
give her credit for. So, thank you.”
I didn’t even realise I was crying softly until I felt the salty tear drop
onto my upper lip. I wipe at my face quickly, dropping my eyes to the
ground. I don’t know how much more my heart can take from this. It feels
too full. Almost too much.
“You don’t need to thank me, Mr. Voss,” Evan says quietly. He reaches
for my hand, and I give it to him, letting him hold me. I lift my head up and
he’s watching me, like always. “No matter how hard she makes me work to
get it, I’m going to do anything to keep her happy and safe.”
“Is that a promise you’re making to me, Evan?” my dad asks seriously.
My mom’s gaze flickers between the three of us and I do the same.
He swallows. “Yes. That’s a promise.”
“Good,” my dad replies.
“She could handle herself just fine without me, though,” Evan says,
smirking down at me. I’m glad he’s finally got that in his thick skull. My
dad smiles proudly. “She’s vicious.”
“Oh, I know,” my mom laughs, and I stick my tongue out at her. She
shakes her head at me before her whole face lights up as she looks at Evan.
“And, Evan, the song you requested is on next, so you should probably
head to the dance floor.”
 “You… What?” I ask, gawking at him. He ignores me, that slight smirk
playing on his lips.
“Thank you Mrs. Voss,” he says to my mom, nodding at her before
twisting my hand into his chest and pulling me to the dance floor. It’s
already crowded, but we weave our way through, getting a spot where we
can dance together.
The only lights are coming from the fairy lights above the shelter and
from inside the hotel. Still, his dark green eyes glow with something I’ve
never seen before. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he wraps his
around my waist, pulling me into him, waiting for the song to start.

♫ Fade Into You by Inhaler

I swear I almost pass out when I hear the open chords of the song start
to play. It’s one of those songs that you can’t tell is a breakup song or a love
song, but it can exist as both. This cover especially does something to my
heart.
It’s slow and peaceful and it makes me want to sleep. It’s the perfect
song to play in the background when I’m doing my homework or when I
want to get out of my head for a while. And he chose this.
“Why did you choose this song?” I ask, resting my head on his chest as
we sway to the music.
“It makes me think of you,” he whispers, “it just feels like you. Like
us.”
I don’t have to ask him what he means. I just understand it so perfectly
that all I can do is keep my head pressed against the steady beat of his heart.
He holds me close to him, his hands never leaving my body, even as we
start to get shoved to the side with more sappy couples entering the dance
floor.
Oh my God.
That’s exactly what we are. We’re a sappy couple. We’re the kind of
people I would see holding hands in a supermarket and wish that was me.
We’re basically Wren and Miles, unable to keep our hands off each other.
We’re everything I have wanted, but also everything I fear.
I want to be happy. I want to be that girl who blushes when her
boyfriend texts. I want to be that girl who giggles over ridiculously stupid
things for no reason. I want to feel everything he gives me right down to my
core, no matter how much it hurts or feels different.
“Sorry to barge in.” I open my eyes to see Kennedy and Wren stood at
the side of us. Wren’s eyes are wide, flicking between the two of us. I push
off his chest, tilting my head to the side. “Wren’s a little confused, as you
can tell. She needs this…” She gestures between Evan and I. “...Clearing up
ASAP.”

* * *

“Scarley, girl, I’ve never seen you smile so much,” Wren says when we
get to the bar. I’ve tried explaining how everything happened, but it’s so
hard to do. It ends up with me shoving my face into my hands, my face
burning red just thinking about it. Wren’s face is bright with child-like joy,
her eyes shimmering.
“Something’s happening to me,” I groan, wiping my hair out of my
face.
“You could say that again,” Kennedy mutters from beside me. I turn to
glare at her, but she just laughs, looking back out at where Miles and Evan
stand in a corner, chatting. “I’m loving this for you, Scar. I told you this
from the start and now look.”
I bark out a laugh. “But then, it sounded so ridiculous. Now it’s so…”
“Real?” Wren says and I nod. “Yeah, I get that. You’ll get used to it.
I’ve never seen you so smitten.”
“I know,” I say, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “I hate it.”
“No, you don’t,” Kennedy says, blowing a raspberry. “You’re in your
Lover era.”
“Your time will come too, Kenny,” Wren says.
“Oh, I know,” she replies. “You deserve this, Scarlett. After everything
that has happened in the last few months, this is good for you. Enjoy it.”
I’ll try. As much as I love to tease Evan and make him work for every
angry kiss he gets from me, I also want what I see in the movies, in books
and shows. I want to get dizzy by kissing him just because I can. I want to
dance with him on a dance floor or in the rain. I want to smile when I see
his name light up on my phone. I want to have everything I’ve dreamed of
but been too scared to grasp.
I want it all.

OceanofPDF.com
 46
Scarlett

I take off my earrings in the mirror, wearing nothing but a thin

nightdress and black laced lingerie that I packed just for this trip.
Everything about today has felt like a dream. One I’m not ready to wake up
from. Even better than a dream? Evan Branson leaning against the doorway,
his arms across his chest in nothing but grey sweatpants. His eyes roam all
over my body in the mirror, instantly making my whole body flush with
heat. I blush too easily when he’s around.
He’s spent the whole night just doing that – looking at me and making
my face burn.
“God, Branson,” I groan, shaking my head at him in the mirror. “You’re
so obsessed with me. You need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Can’t,” he whispers, slowly walking towards me as a grin crawls up
his face. When he gets to me, he cages me in with his hands on either side
of the vanity, kissing me on my shoulder lightly.
“I bet you wanted me the day you walked me home in the rain. When
you came rushing after me like I was a damsel in distress,” I say, laughing. I
giggle as his kiss tickles me on my shoulder, as he keeps his eyes locked
with mine.
“No,” he whispers. “Before that.”
“When I accused you of stealing the whiteboard?” I ask, my eyebrows
pinched together. He shakes his head lightly.
“Before that.”
“What?” I gawk.
 “When you shoved bacon in my face at Christmas in your apartment,”
he admits. If I thought my body was on fire before, I was wrong. This is
exactly what it feels like to burst into flames.
“That was over a year ago, Branson. You’re lying to my face right
now.”
“I’m not. In fact, it was probably way before that, but I don’t want to
scare you off when I’ve only just got you,” he says, twisting me around to
face him. Before I can process it, his strong hands have lifted me onto the
bathroom counter, his fingers under the skirt of my dress as he rips off my
panties in one motion. I gasp.
“Hey, I just bought these,” I scold. He silences me with a kiss, pushing
his hot, wet mouth to mine, letting me fall right into him, knowing he’ll
catch me. He pulls apart, his chest heaving as much as mine is.
“Good thing I prefer you without clothes on isn’t it, Angel?” he says,
slipping his hand to where I’m aching for him.
“I’m not your angel,” I bite out.
“No. You’re my fucking everything.”

Evan

“Keep your hands there, pretty boy,” she demands, tightening her
ribbon around my wrists.
I don’t know how we got to this point so quickly. One minute I was
finger-fucking her on the bathroom counter, watching her moan into my
shoulder and the next, we’re in the bedroom, I’m on my back as she
straddles me, her pretty tits bouncing in my face as she ties her ribbon
around my wrists, securing it to the headboard.
“You think I’m pretty?” I nudge my head up, trying to catch my lips
with hers, but she tilts her head away from me.
“Something like that.”
She leans up off my chest, fishing into the bedside drawer as she
retrieves one of the condoms I bought. She rolls it on me and without any
warning, with no teasing or edging, she slides my cock into her warm
pussy, making me feel straight at home. As she sinks down, her body
adjusting to my size, she braces her palms on my chest, rolling her hips
slightly, causing her tits to fall further into my face.
“Fuck, Ev,” she moans, throwing her head back. I’m hardly doing
anything to her, unable to guide her with my hands, but she knows how to
make herself feel good and it’s a fucking sight. “Everything about you feels
good. I hate it.”
“I know you love it, sweetheart,” I say through a desperate groan as she
continues to ride me, her pace picking up. Using her palms to steady
herself, she rolls her hips back and forth, pressing her clit onto me to cause
more friction.
Her body creates the most obscene image as she gets lost in the
moment – her head flying back, her back arched, her nipples hard peaks as
she cries out my name. Her whole body is on display for me now, her
golden skin glowing right in front of me. God, I want to touch her so bad.
“Scarlett, you’re killing me,” I bite out, but she doesn’t stop. She
continues to get herself off, not caring about the amount of pain I’m in. She
starts to move faster, and I try to help by bucking my hips up, meeting her
bounces, driving her closer to the edge.
“You’ve got to stop doing that or I’m going to come,” she says, her
sentence being broken up by pants. She slows down her pace and I slow
down mine as she pressed her clit to my skin, rubbing herself against me.
They’re something so maddening about not being able to touch her, but
still watching her get off while riding me.
“I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re being such a good girl
for me,” I say as her pace quickens, those brown eyes piercing mine. Her
eyes gloss over, and she squeezes them shut. “What have I told you, Angel?
You look at me when you come for me. Got it?”
A loud moan pierces through the air. “God…Evan…” Her words turn
into a garbled moan as she reaches her climax, her body trembling as she
collapses on my chest. I want to touch her, soothe her, tell her that she did a
good job, but she hasn’t untied my hands yet.
After a few seconds of uninterrupted silence other than her pants, she
releases my hands from her ribbon.
She smooths her fingers over my wrists, kissing me there. “Was that
good for you?”
 “It would have been fantastic if I could’ve touched you,” I say, finally
grabbing her face and kissing her angrily.
I push her and she pushes back, constantly battling each other for what
we want even though it’s the same thing. Her body relaxes into me, and I
finally get to use my hands to touch her everywhere.

* * *

Time passes by in a haze as we shower — again — as the party still

rages on downstairs. I don’t know why we didn’t stay out for longer,
especially when our friends were enjoying themselves. I wouldn’t have
minded, but we were starting to get too touchy, and it didn’t feel appropriate
around her family. I swear I’d have her attached to me if I could.
For someone who couldn’t stand me a few months ago, she clings to
me like a koala as we lay in the bed, and I love it. I know that what she feels
for me is deeper than we’re both admitting, but I’m letting her come to
terms with that in her own time. If it means we’re going to spend nights like
these, her legs wrapped around my waist as she rests her head against my
chest as I stroke my hand down her spine, knowing it relaxes her, I’m fine
with that.
“You’re mine, right?” she whispers into my skin.
“I’m yours,” I reply instantly.
She smiles, suddenly giddy and full of life, leaning up on my chest.
“Mine,” she says into my skin on my chest, kissing me there. “Mine,” she
presses again with another kiss. She lays back down on my chest, holding
onto me tight. “All fucking mine.”
“Are you branding me, sweetheart?”
“I don’t want to lose you,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep. I
brush her hair out of her face, smoothing it down.
“You won’t. You wouldn’t need to do this to prove that. You’ve had me
for years, Scar. Fucking years.”

OceanofPDF.com
OceanofPDF.com
 47
Evan

“How does it feel to lose, loser?”

No matter how many times I try to tell Scarlett something isn’t a
competition, she thinks I’m bluffing and turns it into one anyway. When I
said we were going to be late to class to get our grades after sleeping in, she
made it a mission to go back to her apartment and see if she could get to
campus before me.
It’s not that I let her win…
Okay, maybe I did.
Only because nothing beats the smile she gets on her face when she’s
won something. So that’s the only reason why I’m sulking walking towards
her outside of Anderson’s office.
She stands with her hands in the air, one of her hands in an ‘L’ shape on
her forehead as she scolds me for being late.
My stomach swarms with butterflies as I notice that her whole outfit is
mine. She’s wearing my sweatpants that she stole and my shirt that she took
from my closet that says, ‘Suck my Pianist.’ The clothes basically swallow
her whole, the sweatpants band rolled down, and the shirt twisted into a
knot at the side, showing off the sliver of her stomach and my favourite
part, her tattoo.
She looks like mine.
I walk closer to her, shaking my head at her, while she continues to call
me a loser. I drag her hand down from her forehead swiftly, interlocking my
fingers with hers instead. “Not everything is a competition, Angel.”
 Her whole face lights up, those brown eyes staring right into mine.
“With you it is. I told you I’d get here before you and I did.”
“Great. Do you want a prize?” I ask, bored.
“You know what? I would lo-”
I silence her by kissing her deeply and she stumbles against the door.
I’m pretty sure Anderson can see us from his office. If he can’t see us, he
can definitely hear the whimper that comes out of her as I press her against
the wall, pinning her with my hips. I kiss her again, biting on her bottom lip
before pulling apart.
“What was that?” she breathes, pressing her fingers to her lips.
“Your prize,” I say, smiling down at her. “Now stop making up excuses
just to kiss me. You’re, like, obsessed with me or something.”
“Or something,” she mutters before turning around and opening the
door to Anderson’s office.

Scarlett
I fucking knew it.
We came top of the class for our project, each of us getting A pluses, as
well as receiving a call from the software developer, wanting to make Hard
To Tell into a reality. We were both so giddy with excitement, telling each
other how happy we were with the way it turned out that I couldn’t even
drive back home. I hate when I get like this. Where I get so excited and hot
and bothered that I can’t do anything, and I have to work off my energy.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask him when we get inside my
apartment building. “Do you wanna come over?”
“You should probably see what’s going on inside,” he says, nodding up
to the elevator. Weird. I open my mouth to respond, but he turns around
swiftly walking away from me. “Bye, Angel.”
Sometimes I wonder why I live with these girls.
I knew Evan’s weird goodbye meant something, but I didn’t know
exactly what. The second I open the door; the whole apartment is a mess.
We usually create a lot of mess, but nothing compared to this.
 The airing cupboard is emptied out so towels, tablecloths, and old shit
we put in there when we moved in have spilled out onto the floor into the
kitchen area. The kitchen is where most of the mess. There’s a stand mixer
on the countertop that wasn’t there when I left this morning, the packaging
on the floor while Wren stands over it, licking some sort of mixture off her
fingers. The fridge door is opened, most of the contents emptied on the side
while the Tupperware cupboard spills out onto the floor.
“What is going on…?” I ask, stepping further into the room. Wren turns
around as if she’s been caught, her cheeks red and puffy.
“Are you ready for Friendsgiving?” she asks. Has she been hit in the
head or something? What the hell is going on?
“It’s the start of May, Wrenny,” I say gently, in case she is on the brink
of a mental breakdown. She hardly ever bakes and she’s not particularly
good at it either.
“Is it?” she asks, chipper as ever. “Oh, well. We’re all going over to
Miles’s for dinner so…” She shrugs innocently, sticking the spoon back in
the batter.
“Who is ‘all of us’?” I ask, laughing at the absurdity.
We’ve been hanging out like always, so I don’t know why she’s
pushing it. Since we came back from LA, Kennedy has been a little distant,
but she usually gets like this around this time of year, given how far away
she is from her family. It was a little weird that she didn’t want to celebrate
her birthday much this year, so we stayed in and watched a movie for her
twenty-first. It was fun as always, but something has seemed off. Maybe
that’s why Wren’s pushing this.
“Just Kennedy, Harry, Milesy, me and you, obviously and uh, Evan,”
she says, rushing her list.
I narrow my eyes on her. “Why?”
“I just thought it would be nice for us all to hang out now you and Evan
are…”
“We’re what?” I ask.
“He’s your boyfriend, Scar. You can say it,” she says, shimmying her
shoulder at me for extra effect. That word is still so weird to me. I even
considered not calling him anything, but there’s nothing that he does that
doesn’t fit my requirements for a boyfriend. And he’s annoyingly perfect at
it.
 “That doesn’t mean I want to,” I mutter.
“Can you stop being a grump for one night and enjoy this delicious
meal that your boyfriend is putting together while I make dessert,” she
warns. I nod at her fierce tone. “Okay,” she says it softer this time. “I’ve
organised a seating plan, so be prepared.”

* * *

I wish she was more specific about being prepared because with the six
of us, and although Wren made it clear she wants to see me and Evan ‘in
action,’ she put us at opposite ends of the table as soon as we got here.
I wouldn’t care that much if he didn’t look so good. I just want to ruffle
his hair, mess him up a little, take off that white button down and run my
hands all over him.
Instead, he’s sitting directly across from me at one head of the table, as
I sit at the other. On his right, Kennedy sits next to Evan and Miles on her
side, next to me. On my other side, Harry sits across from Miles, while
Wren sits on Evan’s other side.
“Baby,” Miles presses as we start to eat the lasagne Evan made. “This
seating plan is awful. I can’t do this. Scarlett chews like an animal.”
I kick him under the table, jabbing my heel into his shin and he winces.
“If you want to complain, you can sit on the floor for all I care,” I say.
This guy gets more and more immature as the days goes by. After the
advice he gave me with Ev, I thought maybe he had grown up, but
apparently not. He glares at me, but I roll my eyes.
“What’s up with this seating plan, Wrenny?” Kennedy asks, wiping her
mouth with her sleeve. I turn to look at Wren, ready to accuse her, but my
eyes snag on Harry watching Kennedy. She’s completely oblivious to the
quiet, softie hockey player who is clearly head over heels for her. As much
as they can say they’re just friends, the kind of looks he gives her hold so
much more than a platonic glance. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but
splitting up the couples is brutal. Miles’s veins are going to pop out of his
forehead.”
Wren carries on chewing her piece of garlic bread innocently. When she
swallows, all of us watching her, she turns to Evan instead, placing her hand
on his. “This lasagne is delicious, Evan. Did you make it from scratch?”
 “Actually, I got-” he starts.
We’re not doing that. At all. “Wren,” I press. “What are you doing?”
She sits up straighter, pushing her blonde hair behind her shoulder
before pinning me with a look. “Do you remember that time when you all
said Miles and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other?” I nod as the
realisation slowly hits me.
When Wren and Miles started to date for real, they couldn’t stop
touching each other. After one of their games, all of us, excluding Evan,
were in the living room and Wren was sitting in Miles’ lap while they
whispered disgusting things to each other, basically making out in front of
us. After Ken pulled Harry away for their infamous seven-minutes-in-
heaven debacle, I was left in the room with those two and it started to get
less and less child friendly.
“So, you think Ev and I can’t do that?” I ask, glancing at him. He looks
so innocent, all put together as he slowly eats the food he made while
everyone glances around the table. I want to kiss him so badly. Wren nods,
clearly happy with her little genius plan. This is going to be more torture for
her boyfriend than it is for mine. “We’re not like you two animals. I can eat
a meal across from him.”
Wren shrugs as if to say ‘We’ll see’ before digging back into her food.
Miles has been fidgeting at the side of me for the whole meal and he’s about
to piss me right off if he doesn’t sit still.
“Is this about self-control?” Miles asks and she nods. “You know I
don’t have a lot of that, baby.” Harry starts to laugh. Even as the designated
baby on the hockey team, he seems to have more sense than most of them
combined. “Hey! You can’t laugh, Butler. When you’re in a relationship
then you can talk. Until then, you won’t know how completely devastating
it is not to touch your girl.”
“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” he mutters in response.
As the words leave his mouth his eyes connect with Kennedy’s, and I
swear time stops. The energy between them is radioactive, but for some
reason, one of them seems to be giving it off more than the other. She
smiles a little, dropping her gaze back down to her food while Harry’s face
burns red.
Strange.
 “How are you holding up, Ev?” I ask causally over the table, taking a
sip of my drink. He smiles wide, those perfect teeth showing.
“Great,” he replies. “You?”
“Fantastic,” I say, beaming. “Are you having trouble not touching me?”
He shakes his head, swallowing. “It’s no big deal. I’ve been resisting
you all my life. I can pretend again for one night.” I press my mouth shut to
hide the giddy grin that battles my face not to spread across my mouth, but I
don’t let it as the girls let out sitcom-worthy ‘Awhs.’
“You’ve become such a softie,” Miles murmurs to my boyfriend and I
kick him again. “You too, Scarley.” It’s like he wants me to bruise his leg. I
ignore him and continue eating my food.
“Can I say something?” Kennedy asks. Everyone’s heads turn to hers,
Harry’s not moving from already looking at her. “As much as you guys
make me want to rip my hair out, you also make me laugh a bunch. So,
thank you.”
“Why are you thanking us?” Harry asks curiously.
“Well, you know what it’s like to not be at home. But when I’m with
you guys, I don’t worry about that. I know I haven’t been the most fun
person to hang out with recently, but you never make me feel bad about it,”
she explains, dropping her gaze to the table.
“You shouldn’t have to thank us for something like that, Ken,” Wren
says. “We’ve always got your back and you’ve always got ours. It’s that
simple.”
“Yeah,” she whispers before coming back to life. “I mean, where would
you be without me manifesting you dating a hockey player so we could
have an excuse to go to the games.”
I laugh. “You manifested that?”
“Of course, I did. How else do you think they got together?” she
explains, gesturing between the couple in question. “You’d be a shitshow
without me.”
“You didn’t even like hockey,” Wren retorts, laughing hard.
“You’re a skater. Besties before testes and all that. But secretly, I love
hockey,” Kennedy says, waving her hand around in dismissal. She smiles
wide, her dimples popping out as she looks at Harry. “Wouldn’t want to
miss out on watching my favourite player.”
 Harry’s face turns completely red at the compliment. Even as a hockey
goalie, he resembles more of a teddy bear than anything else. He gets all
shy and nervous around Kennedy’s loud energy, but when I catch them
together they feed off each other, just becoming one huge ball of sunshine.
The way they’re smiling at each other now? I don’t know if friends just
look at friends that way. Maybe I’m just projecting and getting antsy about
not being able to touch Evan. Kennedy’s thing is to overanalyse, so I’ll
leave that up to her.
We eat the rest of the meal talking about everything and nothing.
Wren tells us about her vacation this summer, while Miles sulks about
not being able to go with her because his family are also going on vacation.
They also tell us how they’re spending half of the summer teaching kids
how to skate at the local rink. Harry tells us about his family coming to visit
him from Australia for a few weeks in the summer, while Kennedy tells us a
story about what happened the last time her mom came up here from South
Carolina, which ended in a lot of tears.
When everyone’s done sharing and it’s my turn, I don’t know what to
say. I don’t have any plans for the summer anymore, other than working on
new designs for Voss. I’ve not really thought about it at all. For once, I don’t
have a direction. At least when I’m at school, I know I’m working towards
something. I have strategies in place, and I know I have a goal. Usually, I
try to plan a solo vacation to give me some time to myself, but with a
boyfriend, can I still do that? Are there rules now that mean I can’t do
things on my own or do we have to always do things together?
I stand abruptly from the table. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Evan stands too. “Me too.” Wren shakes her head. “She’s clearly in
need of desperate help, Wren. I’m doing us all a favour here.”
I roll my eyes at Evan’s not discreet excuse as I move from the table
and down the corridor to the only bathroom on this floor. I hear his
footsteps a few behind mine, but I don’t turn around. I make the quick
decision not to go to the bathroom and instead walk out into the street,
where the streetlights shine overhead as it starts to rain a little.
I need a second to breathe. I don’t know why I’m panicking about this.
I shouldn’t be panicking about this. I’ve been in a relationship before. It
wasn’t a great one, but I managed it. So why does this one make me feel
like I’m suffocating and nothing is even happening?
 I can feel him before he actually touches me.
“Just give me a sec,” I say, holding my hand up as I face away from
him. “I think I’m having a panic attack or something.”
I take in huge gulps of air, not knowing if this is working or not, but I
need to do something. I can feel him moving behind me. Why is it always
raining? Will focusing on that help? As the feeling in my chest tightens, I
try to focus on the pavement, watching the rain fall down into the drain, but
it doesn’t help. Nothing is working.
“Can I- Will it help if I hold you? I can hold you really tight.”
“You can try,” I whisper.
The second the words are out of my mouth, he comes behind me,
wrapping his huge arms around my chest, securing me, and holding me
tight the way I need to, resting his chin on my head. I focus on breathing,
making sure I don’t run out of breath. My whole body feels heavy and
sweaty, even with all the rain. But he’s anchoring me. Keeping me safe.
“I’ve got you, Scar,” he whispers into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
“I know. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I choke out.
“One second I was fine and the next… I don’t know. I’m just worried when
there’s nothing to worry about.”
He doesn’t ask about what because I think he knows. “We’re going to
be okay, you know? If you keep trying to compare our relationship to
everyone else’s, you’re never going to be satisfied. We don’t need a plan for
the summer to enjoy ourselves. If you want to go to Italy, walk around
museums, go to New York…. Anything you want. We can do it all. Or we
can stay here and do nothing. As long as I’m with you, close to you, I’ll be
okay. We’ll be okay.”
My heartbeat starts to settle again, and he starts to relax off me, his grip
slowly loosening so I can breathe again. He twists us around, so my chest is
to his and he crushes my face to his, kissing me on the forehead. How does
he manage to make everything better? He just gets me. Sometimes I don’t
even have to speak, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. I can give him a
look and he’ll just know.
When I start to breathe normally again, I open my mouth multiple times
without saying what I want to say. There’s no way we’re going to move
forward if I don’t. I sigh, trying to muster up all the courage I need, and I
step back from him. He still holds onto my shoulders, studying me
curiously in the light rain.
Starting off strong, I say, “Don’t ever quote me on this.” He tilts his
head to the side. “I feel like the luckiest girl when I’m with you. You listen
to me. You make me feel smart. You take care of me even when I don’t
want you to. I’ve been so used to doing that on my own, only looking out
for myself and pushing everything else away, and you took that part of me
and cared for it so effortlessly. You never complain. You wait for me when I
tell you I’m not ready. You just get me. And I get you. I couldn’t ask for a
better partner. And I know that word cringes people out, but that’s exactly
what we are: partners. Partners in crime, too.”
My brain barely gets to process the fact that I said those words, let
alone that his lips are covering mine. He grabs onto my face, holding me
tight, kissing me so hard that I almost go dizzy. He’s kissing me so hard that
it’s the force of a million kisses, telling me everything I never knew I
needed to hear.
I’m proud of you and I’ve got your back, is all I can hear as he kisses
the living daylights out of me. When we’re still kissing and the rain has
stopped, I can’t tell if it’s a tear coming from his cheek that I can taste or if
it’s the rain. I pull back from him.
“Hey,” I say softly, brushing the tear that has fallen from his eye. “Why
are you crying?”
“Because I’m happy about what you just said,” he replies, doing his
best and not to sound upset. He closes his eyes, tilting his head up to the
sky. “Fuck, Scarlett. Don’t say shit like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you!”
“No need to shout, Ev,” I murmur, laughing a little, but his face remains
serious. My heartbeat roars in my ears, and I have to steady myself against
his arms, making sure I don’t slip or melt into a puddle at his feet. “You
love me?”
“Of course, I do! Has that not been obvious? I think I’ve been so
unhealthily in love with you my whole life, Scarlett. Since we were kids,
there has been no one that I’ve loved as much as I love you. I love doing
stupid things with you, I love it when you tell me to relax, I love it when
you hold my hand when you don’t even realise you’re doing it. No one has
ever made my chest burn just by looking at them. No one who has made me
want to do better, be better, for them. I don’t think about anything as much
as I think about you, about us, about being with you. I would count down
the minutes in class for a second to argue with you. I’d play your stupid
games if it meant that I had your attention for just two seconds. I’d lay my
soul bare for you, Scarlett. I’d let you pick me apart. I’d let you do
absolutely anything to me. Because you’re…” His voice wobbles. “You’re
everything to me.”
“Why is loving me unhealthy?” I tease, tilting my head. The severity of
what he said hasn’t hit me yet. I don’t know why that part is the only thing
I’m caught up on.
“Because it’s addicting. Even when you push me away, I still want
more of you. All of you. All of the time,” he says, his tone serious and
deadly, thick with emotion.
“I want you too.”
“Yeah?”
His smile almost makes me want to cry. He has the sweetest lined
dimples that spread across his cheekbones when he smiles too hard.
Sometimes he does it when he’s being sarcastic or when he’s trying to piss
me off, but he’s smiling like that now. Just for me.
My brain is refusing to process the words that just came out of his
mouth. I’m still feeling dizzy from that kiss and now this is making me feel
even more lightheaded. Evan Branson loves me. He doesn’t just like
holding hands with me or writing me songs. He doesn’t like buying me two
hundred thousand dollar paintings or whispering filthy things to me. He
makes me feel smart and capable. He makes me want to work harder. He
loves me. And I….
“I love you, Ev,” I say, reaching out my hand to rest on his face. I watch
him sigh as if he’s been holding his breath for years. “If what we’ve been
doing for the past few weeks is what it’s going to be like forever, I don’t
want anything else. You make love seem fucking golden. You’re my angel,
Evan.”
“I knew you didn’t hate me.” He grins.
“I knew you didn’t hate me either,” I challenge.
“Great.” He steps closer to me.
“Good.” I step closer to him.
 “Perfect.” His gorgeous ridiculous face is right in front of me now.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Then I kissed him again. And again. And again. Because he has me.
And I have him. We’re equals. We’re partners. We’re best friends. We’re
just everything.
And apparently, kissing in the rain is our thing now.

OceanofPDF.com
 Epilogue
The Summer – Evan

“I’m still mad at you,” she says. It still makes me laugh how she can
say that with a straight face while climbing into my lap, wearing the shirt
she stole from my closet and nothing else.
“Oh, come on, Scar. It was one episode. I can watch it again if you
want me to,” I groan, pulling her into me. We’ve been rewatching Modern
Family and even though we’ve both seen it a million times, she plotted to
kill me if I watched an episode without her. I didn’t mean to do it, but it
came on and it was a good fucking episode. “You can’t stay mad at me
forever.”
“I can and I will.”
“Even if I kiss you?” I say, trailing my hands underneath my — her —
shirt.
“Even if you kiss me, Ev,” she replies. She’s gotten better at the whole
‘your proximity does nothing to me’ over the last few weeks. At the
beginning, every touch was so sensitive, but as she’s got used to it, she’s
also better at hiding how much I affect her and how much she loses control.
“You’re still calling me ‘Ev.’ That’s a good sign,” I say, looking at the
positives.
“That’s because your name has too many syllables,” she says proudly,
holding up her head high. We’ve had this argument before and she
somehow managed to win.
“It has two,” I challenge.
“Yeah. Two too many,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the
world. I laugh at her as she continues to rub my shoulders gently.
“Scarlett, tesoro, you’re ridiculous,” I say.
“But you love ridiculous, don’t you, Branson? You wouldn’t be able to
live without my ridiculousness. What’s ridiculous is how you think I’m
ridiculous,” she rambles, sounding, well…ridiculous.
“Say ‘ridiculous’ one more time and your ass is going to be red and
raw,” I warn.
 “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Ev,” she retorts, leaning into me
as she whispers, “That.” She kisses my neck. “Would be.” She kisses my
jaw until she gets to my ear as she rasps, “Ridiculous.”
I’m about to go in to kiss her, finally tasting what she’s been edging me
on for since I got to her apartment, but her room door bursts open.
It’s been harder than ever to get a moment of privacy in this apartment,
but we still try every time. Kennedy and Wren don’t seem to mind the
whole ‘walking in on your best friend while he sucks off her boyfriend’ and
it’s slightly concerning.
Scarlett snaps her head to the door where Kennedy walked through.
She’s covering her eyes with one hand, her other arm searching aimlessly
for Scarlett’s closet.
“Jesus, Ken, what are you doing?” she asks.
“My eyes are closed,” Kennedy squeals. “I’m just looking for the
battery for my camera.”
“Why would it be in my closet?” Scarlett asks.
“I dunno,” she says, “A lot of stuff ends up in here.”
“That’s true,” I say, kissing my girl on the neck, but she climbs off me,
walking over to her friend. My button down is long enough to cover her ass,
but if she’s not careful she’s going to flash someone. Me, hopefully.
“What’s going on, Ken?” Scarlett asks. Kennedy turns to her, her eyes
still squeezed shut. “I’m decent.” She looks back to me, giving me a once-
over. “He’s decent. Just open your eyes.”
She peaks behind her fingers first, not fully trusting us. When she sees
it’s safe, she drops her hand with a sigh, looking Scarlett in the eye as she
says, “I’m going home.”
“What do you mean, home? This is your home,” Scarlett says,
confused.
“I mean home home,” she replies. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be
here for this, so I get up off the bed. As I do, Scarlett turns around, sending
me a death stare and I sit back down. Okay.
“South Carolina home?” Scarlett asks.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Only for the summer. I’ll still be finishing fourth year, but then
depending on how I feel… I might go back for good.”
 This doesn’t sound good for any of us.
Without Kennedy, Wren and Scarlett would fall apart, which also
means by proxy, Miles and I would fall apart. She’s the literal glue to the
group. She’s funny without even trying and she is loud and chaotic, always
trying to pull Wren and Scarlett out of their comfort zones. She’s been mine
and Scarlett’s biggest cheerleader since the first day I met her. Even I would
miss her rudely barging in on us.
“Ken, talk to me.”
She sighs, running her hands down her overalls. “Something hasn’t
been feeling right. It hasn’t felt right for a long time. I just think spending
the summer with my mom and Mia is the best option right now.”
Scarlett shakes her head. “But that’s where-”
“I know. That’s why I also need to go back. He’s gone. He can’t ruin
home for me anymore,” she says. I don’t know who he is, but he sounds
like bad news. She pulls Scarlett into a hug, holding her tight while she
stands there motionless. “I’ll call you when I get down there.”
“Okay,” she muffles. When she pulls out the hug she says, “Stay safe.”
“I will. Bye, Evan. Be good for Scar this summer or she’ll leave you in
Italy on your own.”
Since the second school let out, we’ve been planning trips around
Europe for the summer. Scar’s content on not staying in Salt Lake all
summer, which means we’re not going to be here much as of next week. I
can’t wait for her to show me places where her family is from in Italy, and I
can pretend I’ve never seen them before. It’s going to be my new favourite
game.
“I’ll be on my best behaviour. Scout’s honour,” I say, beaming, holding
up three fingers. She doesn’t buy it because she points at me as she starts to
walk backwards towards the door.
“Yes, so that that means no fucking in bathrooms while your friends are
next door,” she warns. I could have sworn no one heard us after my band
performance, but apparently not. “Walls are thin.”
“Ken, for the millionth time, we weren’t-” I say.
She waves a hand, dismissing me as she slips through the door,
shouting, “Have fun. And use protection!”
As Scarlett walks back to me, she’s frowning. I reach out to grab her
hand, pulling her into me so she falls into my lap again, her arms weakly
linked around my shoulders.
“She’s going to be fine; you know?” I say to her, knowing she needs the
encouragement.
She sighs, looking back to the door where loud sounds of what Scar
calls ‘Kennedy Noises’ sound outside. “I know, but she’s my soulmate.
There’s a lot she’s going back to.”
“She can handle it, Scar. You just worry about yourself for now, okay?”
I say, pulling her for a kiss. She dodges me just before they connect,
climbing off my lap and falling back onto the bed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m still mad at you, remember?”

THE END.
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 Acknowledgements

The hardest part about writing a book, for me, is knowing who to thank
while also sounding as me and professional as possible. All I want to do is
say, ‘Thank you soooooo much!!! I couldn’t have done it without you,” but
that doesn’t seem like the most professional thing to do. Really, it seems
insanely impossible to have such a short space to put into words how
grateful I am for every single person who helped with this book and this
series. But I’m going to try and give it my best shot.
Writing this book has been one of the most difficult yet rewarding
experience of my life. Writing a mystery aspect was a lot more difficult
than it need to be, but I’m hoping I managed to pull it off. This book
contained roughly the same amount of side plots as book one but for some
reason, incorporating Evan and Scarlett’s journey separately was really
difficult for me. There were so many days where I thought about scrapping
the book and making it simpler, but then I say started to realise that the
complexities this book holds is what makes it so special and unique. The
long and gruelling process was completely worth it for you all to have read
their story and to have it in your hands.
Now, this is the hardest part. From my supporters over on social media
and my cheerleaders in person, it’s so hard to put into words just how
grateful and thankful I am to have had such a good support system.
Firstly, I’d like to thank my family for giving me the tie and space to
create even if that meant I was stuck in my room for hours on end,
screaming and giggling over stupid scenes. I know my friends would groan
and tell me to stop when I’d say I have a new idea for a book but this one
was the most fun to talk about. As much as Queenster deemed it a ‘mafia
romance’ which is most certainly is NOT, I’ll never forget the amount of
laughs we had over certain scenes. So, thank you to my Queenie Boo,
Christabel, Harriet, Ayela, Alannah, Eva, Sadie Amy, Ola, and Olivia for
everything and for sticking by me as this book took over my life.
I never thought I would form an emotional bond and connection to
people I met over a screen, but it happened. This book would definitely not
be this book without Katie and Ella. We somehow found each other and
became absolutely inseparable. Not only did they encourage me, send me
their unhinged reactions to some of the scenes, but they made me feel so
supported, loved, cared for, and seen. I’ve never felt more like myself like I
am when I’m talking with them. I don’t think anyone has been able to
completely get me and understand me so easily than these two girls. You
will always have such a special place in my heart, no matter what. My
Prose Hoes.
Thank you to Emma for being there right from the beginning. Having
you read this story whilst I was writing it was the greatest gift I could have
ever asked for. You have always been right with me as I’ve written my
current projects and this book would not be what it is without all your
constant support and unique takes on scenes and chapters. You have been
the best, most special friend anyone could ask for and I am constantly in
awe of everything you do. So, thank you.
Thank you to all you readers who have chosen to pick up my book and
read it. Everyone and their mothers say this, but I would not be where I am
without you. Seriously. As an indie author, exposure online and in person is
incredibly hard to get by and I could not get my books off the ground
without the help of all of you for picking up my book.
And lastly, thank you to me. I have always been a perfectionist and
have always tried to do a million things at once, constantly trying to raise
the bar. It’s hard being stuck in my head all the time, trying not only to
please and satisfy myself, but others also. Being so young, I was constantly
comparing myself to others, not feeling fully worthy or good enough.
Slowly, I pulled myself out of that and gave myself some grace. Managing
to write my sophomore novel has been a dream come true and would not
have been possible without the hard work and dedication that I put into
making it.
It’s only up from here.

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 Books In This Series

Fake Dates & Ice Skates – BOOK 1

Wren Hackerly loves routines. She has always been a woman to stick by a schedule and work
towards her end goal no matter the costs. The very last thing in her five year plan was to get caught in
a fake dating plot with the one hockey player she just about tolerate.
Miles Davis is a rule breaker and a flirt - everything that Wren is not used to and does not want
to get used to. It doesn’t help that he’s one of the most popular people to ever set foot on North
University’s grounds.
After much convincing, a few parties and an awkward family meeting later, Wren and Miles
navigate the world of social media trolls and the harsh truths of living up to their potential. The more
time Wren spends with him, she can slowly feel herself slipping out of the mould she has been in her
entire life. For the most part, she kind of enjoys it, but there is a gnawing feeling like this is what is
going to distract them from their goals. When the line between what’s real and what’s fake begins to
blur, will either of them admit to feeling things that aren’t just pretend?

Good Grades & Mystery Games – BOOK 2

Scarlett Voss is what girls at North University want to be but also what they fear. She’s stubborn,
confident and spends too much of her free time arguing with a certain blonde in all of her classes.
She’s grown up with money so she knows how it feels to be used for something other than her
personality. So when a family mystery arises, Scarlett jumps at the opportunity to prove to everyone
and herself, that she is capable of more than people think.
Evan Branson is the stuck-up, flirty boy who irritates Scarlett on a day-to-day basis, seeing how
far he can push her until she cracks. It’s no secret that he’s a millionaire but that might be the only
thing keeping him going after an embarrassing scandal involving a weeping Evan and a packet of
Oreo’s leads to him getting pushed aside from the family business. His one chance at getting back in
with the Branson’s is through a simple plan: Get close to Scarlett, find out more about her family and
don’t blow your cover.
When the two are paired up for an end of year project, an unlikely mystery tying them together
and a final grade on the line, can they put their family feud and general hatred for each other to
the side while they strive for a grade? How far are they willing to push each other to get what they
want?
Summer Days & Great Mistakes – Kennedy’s Book Coming 2024…

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